The News with Susie Morice
Welcome to Day 12 of Verselove. We are so happy you are here, however you choose to be present. If you know what to do, carry on; if you are not sure, begin by reading the inspiration and mentor poem, then scroll to the comment section to post your poem. Please respond to at least three other poets in celebration of words, phrases, ideas, and craft that speak to you. Click here for more information on the Verselove.
Susie Morice has served as a school district leader in English language literacy, gifted education, and teaming. After three decades in the public school classroom and another heap of years consulting for the Santa Fe Center for Transformational School Leadership, Susie now writes poetry and music, rides her bicycle, and pounds on the piano. Those are loves that keep her road-tripping to the next campfire, playing guitar, and singing. She is at the heart a writer and a teacher. “We never quit learning how to write well. Each time we crack open the laptop, we have an opportunity to make a difference in print.” Susie Morice
Inspiration
Today’s news is pliant often leaving us wanting the fuller story, the truth. News gets our adrenaline pumped. Today, use the news. I used Martin Espada’s poem, his close examination of the news of Mario Gonzalez Arenales, and also a news feature in the Sunday NYT on Long Covid. Espada takes a grim circumstance, narrating a much deeper reality through his poem. And Sharon Otterman gives us “Fighting Long Covid to Work Again” (NYT, Feb. 27, 2022). I’ve wondered about the long-term psychological impact of life in Covidlandia these past two years. These two inspirations might trigger your own response to a news piece. News is powerful and a marvelous catalyst for poetic response.
Process
- Take any piece of news…(funny, serious, scary, peculiar…) – whatever rocks your socks;
- dig through the newspaper or through your online news and read the article;
- do the who, what, when, where, why of journalism;
- scribble some notes;
- steal any phrases/pivotal words from the article you read;
- offer us your angle on the news piece through a poem;
- perhaps tinker with the basic trifecta of poetic devices: metaphor, simile, personification.
- Chip away at the verbiage that seems unneeded.
- Focus on the verbs and sensory details that retell the story or that map an emotional response to the story so we feel the importance of the event as you are feeling it now.
- Force yourself to read it out loud 3 times.
OR
Use the news piece as a launch for a poem that conveys your concerns that this news arouses. Let us see the claws of your rage, feel the scratch of your worry, taste the saffron of your affection. Let it take you to wherever it takes you. We want to hear your voices.
Susie’s Poem
PSYCHOLOGICAL LONG COVID
Today the mask
is shed across the region
as if … Poof!
the dragon against the legion
lies slain.
Instead, he coils
— a conduit of toil heaped in the corner —
and she knows the stinging burn of his breath
on her ankles;
he waits, like a shadow
swallowed in the onset of night,
for her to linger in the open doorway
just a moment too long
— a moonflower heeding
a siren’s song to lay open her petals,
move about the world, reclaiming
lost flickers of light –
she feels his one eye open,
tracking back and forth
the slow pendulum
of her rocking
and pacing
and wanting so much,
fading in and out of the fog
that refuses to set her free;
till she withdraws,
buckling resolve,
mired in the monochrome
of isolation,
manacles cutting grief at her feet.
paralyzing her in place
in a sorry relief
against the Technicolor
of everything
she cannot bring herself
to touch.
Feb. 28, 2022©
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. 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.
Also, in the spirit of reciprocity, please respond to at least three other poets today.
Very powerful — I think all women have experienced that feeling of “it is not safe here” as you have described.
Kasey this poem was powerful to say the least. Every woman has a story about sexual harassment and you are absolutely correct—it’s not safe here. Every time one of these bills gets passed, it makes me worry for the women around me and the rights that we have. How long is it before we begin losing more?
When I was a child
My history book was a place
Filled with hatred.
There were two sides
Black vs. White.
No middle ground.
No allies.
No change.
You have been criticized.
Antagonized.
Unrecognized.
Ignored.
I do not share your experiences
But I will stand beside you.
I will memorize the names.
I will recognize the wrong doings.
I will be a line of support
Until your voices are heard.
When our children open their textbooks
They will see more than shades of grey.
They will see color and honor it.
They will know the names and faces of those lost.
They will know a better tomorrow
Because you fought today.
-Lyoya was a father of two
As I have mentioned, I am working on a verse novel and it is about friendships-loss and finding new- but also a pandemic. This was inspired from an article from the FDA after the first approval of the Pfizer vaccine.
Thank you for this prompt!
Today is a dream
After months of
The battle of the fog
The sickness
The death
We have reached a milestone
A safety net
A vaccine.
This disease
Which forever altered us
Will now leave us
Effective immediately
Expeditiously.
Humans can be humans again
We can go outside again
We can live again
Today is not a dream.
This is deep I really loved it because my city is becoming more of an unsafe place to live. I could relate to the poem.
The Never-Ending Cycle
Author Freddy Cavazos
Another, article man shot
and killed in Grand Rapids, MI
What a scary place to live in
Especially not feeling safe
In the city, I grew up loving
Lives being lost at the
Drop of a dime with
No one is being held accountable
Men & Women crowd the scene
With tears running down
Their face hopping its
Not their loved one
The cry of the city runs deep
Pain and heartache is all we know
Praying for those who
Lost the loved one in a tragic way
This poem has such heart and such power. The lines that stand out to me are “drop-off a dime” and “pain and heartache is all we know.”
I too wrote about this. Your line “The cry of the city runs deep” is a powerful observation of this tragedy.
Kasey:
Wow. This was amazing. I read it through more than once to just absorb and unpack it. And it made me angry. Beautiful job with this subject. Bravo.
Thank you for the prompt, Susie. I didn’t know what to do with it at first. The news coming from my country right now is saddening. I didn’t want to go that route. So I wanted to focus on something positive and I found a wonderful article. Here goes:
Treasure Lost, Treasure Found
Treasure lost,
Two leather and copper-bound field notebooks.
Tiny bits of copper flaking off the hinges.
Containing thoughts and observations
as Darwin jotted down musings
and sketched the ‘Tree of Life’
for his Theory of Evolution.
Stolen and returned 22 years later.
Treasure found,
Bound in saran wrap
Placed in a pink gift bag,
Outside the librarian’s office.
I’m also deeply saddened, Saba, finding it difficult not to witness truth but balance that with the daily work of journalists to keep the world watching. I appreciate your news topic today because 1) I use to read the Good News Network reguarly, and I fell away from doing that. This was a reminder that there is indeed good news that is important news as well, and 2) I LOVE this story! I did go and read the news article, but you have captured the essence of the story here, and the poetic form really brings out the “romanticized” nature of the event. This is how stories become legends. Thank you. Lovely to wake up to this today.
You were right to wait, Saba, because this was worth waiting for. How incredible to find a lost treasure. The description of the notebooks…the hinges…the copper flakes…so lovely that we are at once smitten by the find. And what a treasure. Wouldn’t you love to know the whole story…this is like the start of a novel! Thank you. Susie
Susie, you’re giving me novel ideas!
Thank you to each of you poets! Though it’s been a wild few days for me as I was in a Portland snow storm, stuck on a snow closed highway with my niece, panicked to get on long flights, forgot my laptop back in STL… I finally collapsed into bed at 1:00 am last night , relieved to be back home to find marvelous poetry from each of you. Your news poems were powerful, delightful, stunningly graphic, and amazing, given the long teaching days you put on the clock. You are heroes! Artful writers, deep thinkers and I’m humbled by your dedication to the written word. Thank you. Susie
Thank you, Susie! Your teaching and encouraging remarks to the members of this community inspires me daily. Your huge heart comes through.
Susie, so glad you were able to make it home safely. I definitely would not want to be stuck on a closed highway while it was snowing. Yikes!
Susie,
Thank you for the wonderful inspiration on Day 12. The news can be so overwhelming sometimes, I like to think that using it as a source of poetic inspiration will be cathartic in some way.
Xenobots
By Shaun
Please, stay calm.
The news I am about to share is a bit unsettling.
In fact,
You may just file it away under
“Fake news”
And go about your business.
Well, it’s real. They’re real.
They’re xenobots.
I’m not talking about some new Anime show the kids are raving about.
It’s not a K-Pop group or Tik-Tok influencer.
It’s an organic robot that can heal itself and reproduce.
Derived from the stem cells of an African clawed frog,
xenobots can move and work together.
We are doomed.
Bah! I love this! Thanks, Shaun, because I struggle to bring the news into my daily grind during the school year. I LOVE tech news, and I missed this story. I do STEM-focused prompts in my classes, and this is a great one for our “ethics challenge.” There is always the “cube” of considerations (not just two sides), and I enjoyed how you introduced this in a way that has the reader considering how cool this could be, but, ah, there’s another side to that cube – the dangers it can hold. Great story, great poem. Appreciate your approach here.
Shaun — Oh my gosh, this takes me to the Future Problem Solving competitions when I was teaching…the futuristic (and now not so “futuristic”) scenarios. Egads. While I love the thought of something that can heal…and a frog that can be a part of that idea, BUT…when Spielberg (or the next generation sci-fi filmmaker) makes the next big here, well, here we are. I’ll try to “stay calm.” Thank you for this dose of holy-cow! Susie
I appreciated how “Please, stay calm” at the beginning was balanced with “We are doomed” at the end. 🙂
Yikes! Xenobots sound sci-fi. I just looked up to find this is not fake news. I love all the anti-xenobots you talk about…”I’m not talking about some new Anime…” Funny.
Omg great poem and very witty. Fake news is something that runs from day to day.
OH MY GOSH. This is awesome. Everything from “please stay calm” to “fake news” and now “we are doomed”-brilliant.
Kasey,
You nailed it. I sent a text to my brother who lives in Broken Arrow this morning and asked him how things are in Gilead this morning. Part of our conversation included me telling him these anti-women laws are about ownership of female bodies. I’ve been thinking a lot about how most originate in southern states and have come to believe the white patriarchy in these states just cannot stand not enslaving others. They do it in the justice system to men of color and through anti-women’s body autonomy laws to women, especially women of color who are the ones most likely to be impacted by these draconian laws. “It is not safe here” is an understatement. I swear I don’t think I’ve ever met a female who has not been sexually harassed.
Kasey, wow, as Susie said, this is a powerhouse of a poem today. You have shown the juxtaposition of the experiences of girls in this world and the white men who make laws like this. Oh, God, have mercy. The repetition of “not safe / not safe / not / safe / HERE” is especially good.
Susie, your long covid is haunting. The intensity of the dragon makes my skin crawl, like in:
and
What a great prompt today. I so enjoyed all the steps you shared and the challenges. So many good teachings for us today. I will come back to it and try, but I’ve had a busy day today. Though I read the prompt this morning and thought a lot about the news, I never made it back to write until now. The news that has been on my mind this week is the beautiful event last Friday when Ketanji Brown Jackson spoke on the White House lawn. I went to the text of her speech and gathered some words for a found poem today. I hope her positive message is a prophecy of a more perfect union.
Possibilities
From remarks by Judge Ketanji Brown Jackson
April 8, 2022
Meaningful notes from children
speak to hope and promise of America.
232 years for a Black woman to be selected to
serve on the Supreme Court of the U.S.
We’ve made it,
We’ve made it,
All of us,
All of us.
Here in America anything is possible.
Inheritor of the dream of liberty and justice for all.
All Americans can take great pride in this moment,
A long way toward perfecting our union.
Denise,
This is a moment of lift, if I may borrow from Melinda Gates. I got a little teary eyed when Judge, doom to be Justice, Brown spoke about the 232 year march to the SCOTUS. I just wish she didn’t have to serve w/ that group of you know what.
Denise – I think your poem is a perfect way to celebrate and honor our new Supreme Court justice. Judge Brown is one step, and a giant step, for all of us in this ragged country. We soooo need Judge Brown. What a terrific poem! May she live a very, very long life and help right this ship. Thank you! Susie
I’ve been trying to hit one of your poems this month, Denise, and this was the perfect opportunity. I did not catch her speech, so I will definitely be going to read/listen to this one. This one word actually caught me today, “Inheritor,” then combined with the remaining phrase we all know so well – liberty and justice for all. But it is NOT achieved. It is indeed still a dream, and that idea that we have inherited it could go either way. It could be like inheriting a great fortune or a great burden. I think now, it is a great burden of that which is still a dream and not achieved. A burden because of those who refuse to acknowledge that it was meant for all and not just a select few. Or if it was only intended for a few when penned, our dream is for all, and we need to work to achieve it. And it’s work. Deep deep words for this morning. Thank you.
I love that you took her remarks and made them into a powerful poem!
Denise,
This poem was so uplifting and hopeful. It’s so exciting to see Ketanji Brown Jackson’s success!
This poem gives me hope for what is to come. Thank you for sharing.
Susie, this was such a “dig into it” prompt for me. Bryan’s poem triggered a memory of the Challenger disaster, so I followed the news around it down the proverbial rabbit hole. As many of us remember, one of the astronauts aboard was Christa McAuliffe, the first “ordinary citizen” as part of the space program. Not only was her family watching the launch, the high school students she taught were also watching a live feed. A tidbit I discovered that shocked me — ABC received “nearly one thousand calls” from viewers complaining because the regularly scheduled soap operas had been pre-empted by news about the Challenger.
Challenger
she stood at stately attention
gowned in pristine white
flanked by her booster-knights,
Diana pursuing her Orion
poised for her “routine launch”
to send soaring seven souls
cradled in her tight embrace,
while mere mortals gawked
“eerie beauty of the orange fireball”
“billowing white trails against the blue”
as she blew into a million bits
and floated back to earth
“officials discounted
speculation that
cold weather”
was to blame
Atë had wrought her work
e’en tho Allan McDonald
brave NASA Engineer
refused to sign off
“freezing overnight temperatures…
could compromise
the booster rocket joints…
could damage…”
as Hades welcomed
them into his cold grasp
President Reagan orated they’d
“slipped the surly bonds of earth”
meanwhile, the mourners,
among them Christa McAuliffe’s
family and students,
remained rooted in shock
Charlene, this topic would have been an interesting rabbit hole to dig into today. I’m sure there is much more to know now. When I learned it had happened, I was at Taco Bell with my third grade star of the week. We watched it on the TV as we ordered. What a day. I learned some things from your poem. Adding the gods is effective. Thinking of McAuliffe’s family and students watching live becomes more real because you end your poem with them.
Charlene,
I appreciate this memory of the Challenger. I was a young teacher at the time. We were all so proud that a teacher was going into space and of Christa McAuliffe’s words, “I touch the future. I teach.” I had a t-shirt w/ that emblazoned on it. Looking back I’ve often thought of the Challenger as a turning point for teachers. It’s during the Reagan years that the shine on our profession became tarnished, and Reagan deserves much blame for that. Anyway, I do also remember the dropping temps, the failed “O” rings, the symbolism of it all.
Charlene – Because this event is seared into my memory, my hat is off to you for bringing such an important memory back. Christa, a teacher, was a huge loss. Your poem is so clear and also so “challenging” as it reveals the errors and the “refused to sing off” element. So heartbreaking. The image of the orange fireball is indelible for me. It was a watershed moment … I can see myself standing at the university where I was teaching an education technology class, watching this on a tv (pretty much the extent of tech back then). We couldn’t believe our eyes. Your poem is a piece of the archive of American history… truly important, a stunning moment when we took a communal gasp that has clearly lasted for decades. Thank you so much for this poem. Susie
Oh, Charlene, this was lovely. I vividly remember returning home on a half day, from taking a high school Regents exam, to watch the coverage of this on TV. It was just heartbreaking. Your poem sent me into a rabbit hole — I never knew about McDonald’s heroic role in the discovery of corruption at the heart of the event. Your poem was just a lovely tribute. Thank you for it!
Kasey — You sure as all heck nailed this one! It is NOT safe out there on each of these fronts. This poem is powerful and way too real… I’ve had some of those same experiences, just in different places. So doggone creepy. I love the voice of anger and fear tangled together rightfully here. And I loathe the OK gov signing that draconian bill into law…again, men deciding about what my body needs. Don’t get me started! Infuriating and wrong! Thank you for a powerhouse of a poem. Susie
Kasey, your use of episodic stanzas highlighted the motif of violence girls experience from an early age. The repetition of “it is not safe here” and its even larger iterations with capitalization and enjambment emphasize that point further–no matter the age. Thank you for processing this headline with us through this poem.
Dang, Kasey, that is a powerful poem. I used a headline about the Oklahoma governor in my poem. So horrific, yet you create a compelling piece that shows that it isn’t safe just about anywhere anymore. Thank you for this amazing poem.
Thank you, Susie, for the invitation to connect myself with what’s going on around me. Your allegory in your poem was well-done! Thank you for sharing. I went to OPB and picked an article that stood out to me: Farmers, Tribes in Klamath Basin... I also borrowed the first line(ish) from the poem of the day: Mercy.
Drought
If you could ask the river whose current used to gush
through the basin, whose very essence provided
a resting place for migratory birds, drinking
water to the animals, irrigation to farmers, and
a home to salmon, how she has become a
fought-over creek trickling
to the Pacific, she would tell
you it wasn’t her choice
and it is not her fault.
She has given
and given and
given.
Rachelle — I just got home at midnight last night from Oregon. The drought there over the last 8 years (or so) has been brutal. I love your poem as it takes me right back to the bird reserve (Ridgefield) I always visit near the Columbia River. That voice of the river that has “given and given” is honest and reminds us that these droughts across the lands are not rivers letting us down but our bad practices of people fighting and ignoring the real problem. This is a really neat poem…and the draining away architecture of the poem is a perfect choice. Thank you! Susie
Rachelle,
This is such a beautiful take on a news article. If only this is how the news was presented–then I could happily read the news. I love the format echoing the water flowing down to the ocean–very poignant take on a sad subject, the fight over water.
Rachelle, wow. This is striking and powerful. Thank you for writing about this. I love the personification of the river and all the details of what she used to be. Wow. “it wasn’t her choice and it is not her fault” really gets me.
Rachelle this was beautifully written. It reminds me a lot of the Giving Tree. This river gave and gave until she had nothing left.
Thank you for the interesting prompt–my brain played with the idea all day, but ultimately, my true reaction to reading the news came out.
I avoid the news like the plague–
or maybe that isn’t the best analogy now,
but I have learned to protect myself.
“Live Updates: At Least 23 People Injured!”
“Biden Calls Putin’s Actions in Ukraine ‘Genocide’”
“Oklahoma Governor Signs Bill Making Nearly All Abortions Illegal”
“Boris Johnson Fined by Police Over Lockdown-Breaking Parties”
These flash in my eyes and trigger an
instantaneous visceral reaction–
dread, heavy and thick in my heart.
Early on in the first pandemic,
I learned to avoid the news even more
than I ever had–and oh, I did.
I want to stay informed, so I rely on the
journalistic device of the most important
information placed first in the article.
I read until my eyes instinctively look away,
close that missive and move on to another–
rarely finishing an entire piece of news.
Where is the good news, the happy headlines,
the accounts of achievement, the truly
important tellings of triumphs in life?
How did we get so encumbered in our minds
with the dreary, horrible, upsetting tales of
all that has gone wrong today in the world?
So I stay informed, just barely enough to get by,
and focus on living–celebrating the hard workers,
the givers, and those who inspire, hope, and love.
Cara,
Thank you so much for this poem, for unveiling to me so much of my thinking today about gazing into the eyes of the Gorgon and/or looking away– “close that missive and move on to another.” I feel like I need to look, to witness, but you offer perspective in looking for and focusing on “the givers” in our lives and, especially, the hope. Now you have me thinking that I should have written a poem or news report about the 5000 poems and responses teacher have written the past 12 days. The miracle of poems that didn’t exist days ago that are now floating across screens and into hearts and minds of educators! Someone should write a news report on this. Maybe we could be on Sunday Morning!
Hugs!
Sarah
Cara, you’ve expressed my feelings so much better than I could today. Your last stanza really speaks to me. I too, follow just enough news to get by.
Cara, I feel so validated by your poem. You hooked me in with the first stanza (the irony creates a comedic effect to me). During the school year, I really lack the emotional bandwidth to process the news as well. Thank you for writing this poem which acted as a mirror to me.
Cara — Honesty! You’ve shared your mechanism for coping with a world that has entirely revamped what news is…and they didn’t bother to warn us or to remind us that new is “for sale” now unlike every before. So those sensational “breaking news” items are brutal…like the blood-letting in horror movies. I felt your poem to the bone. I appreciate the ways you’ve managed to learn of the “triumphs”… models for how we might live forward. I am a news junky, but I’ve really had to rethink my methods for getting at factual information without being bombarded with the “for sale” aspect. It takes a lot more work. Geez.
I’m with Sarah…our poems offer a much clearer view of news! The real world! Hugs and thanks, Susie
“and focus on living” — this struck a chord Cara. The media outlets have become so hyper-focused on death-death-death that the majority of us are struggling to maintain our equilibrium. Keep on celebrating the positive things!
Thanks Susie for another provocative prompt. The news? I feel like there is so much I want to avoid about the news–especially for my writing. I considered all day just what take on the news I might embrace. And then the headline…out of our principal’s mouth during lunch today, “The queen bee has moved in…” That’s the news I am going with!
The Buzz
The queen bee has moved in
and her kingdom is swarming near the classroom door
Announced the principal
during lunch
the buzz buzzed
through the lounge
through the halls
adults swarming
considering
During our read-aloud
a lone bee
was discovered
on Madison’s head
then ushered out with a quick flick
By tomorrow
the queen will be resettled
along with her kingdom
well out of reach
of classroom doors
Love this news report-poem. Indeed, when a bee buzzes in (or in some cases a cockroach marches across a boot), there is a swarming of students and faculty! That line “then ushered out with a quick flick” is so fun.
Sarah
Kim, I like the way your lines are short quick snippets which mimmic a bee’s journey and sound well. Thank you for sharing this bit of news with us, and I hope the move goes well 😉
Kim — Oh wow, this is totally delightful! I LOVE the idea of this bee jaunting buzzzily through the halls and lighting on Madison’s head. LOL! Totally fun! Thank you! Susie
Kim,
This needs to be a children’s book! It has a fun tone that I can completely picture. Thank you for a much needed smile. 🙂
This is great, Kim, how you found such a lively nature example to focus on!
Susie, your poem is cutting and heavy. I hope you are not writing from a personal experience with long COVID. Your metaphor feels so right. I think this prompt would make a lovely chaser to a “current events” assignment. I started and stopped today with several ideas and couldn’t get away from prose.
News from Infant A
At pick-up today, Ms. Becky, the pastor’s wife and resident head teacher for the newest humans, spoke kindly and diplomatically, “Photo day was just different this year.”
When asked for her thoughts, local woman, 34, said, “Honestly, I think I’m more interested in seeing the photo-day evidence from the day it didn’t go well.”
We will update this article as more information becomes available.
Laura,
This is just perfect in prose. Just what I needed (as if you wrote the poem just to tickle a smile from me). I love this local woman calling for “didn’t go well” photo-day evidence. It brought to mind the pocket comb the picture lady used to try to tame my cowlicks.
Peace,
Sarah
Ah, Laura — I love this. The newsy-ness of it… “woman, 34…” Well, she nailed the reality of photo-day… always a bust. LOL! Just made me laugh out loud. Love it! Thank you. Susie
SERiously! Talk about bringing back memories! So many photo days – and it doesn’t matter even if they went well – looking back on them now, they are all truly lovely laughable images of our tiny selves. Love so much of the phrasing here “newest humans” and “kindly and diplomatically” and my favorite start word, “Honestly” because what follows is usually a hum-dinger! Fun memory poem! Thanks, Laura!
Last night there was particularly bad weather in my neck of the woods and the first headline I saw today was about that — we have more to come so this seemed like the perfect invitation to write a poem.
“Four suspected tornadoes hit Arkansas.”
As if they were a posse of bandits
straight out of the wild west.
riding in under cover of darkness,
but causing quite the scene,
you listen for the oncoming train
hearing only a plea for shelter.
“We watched as the tornado pass.”
As if they were classmates in the hall,
the school bullies that hurl insults
like golf-ball sized hail
and may not leave injuries,
but you tremble alone
in your bathroom all the same.
Erica — You put me on alert. Tomorrow is supposed to be wicked here in St. Louis. While I won’t be in the bathroom totally creeped out, I WILL be in the basement here. Those sirens just really put me on edge. And “golf-ball sized hail” is coming as well. Very news-worthy! Thank you. Susie
Erica,
Oh, this was great! Gripping, and it actually made me feel tense. Love your metaphors. Loved the lines:
“you listen for the oncoming train/
hearing only a plea for shelter.”
And I loved the comparison in Stanza 1, especially the last three lines.
As I’m up in the northeast, I’e never had to live through one, but what I know of them is terrifying. Your poem really underscores that feeling.
Érica, we must share this neck of the woods—the first thing my husband said to me this morning was that a tornado had touched down outside of Conway. I appreciate that you bring into relief the uneasiness of unemotional, straight reporting when it comes to disasters and devastation. Your metaphors are so well-crafted.
I live in Cabot and teach in Vilonia…so yes same woods. Thank you!
“As if they were a posse of bandits straight out of the wild west” I love how the tornadoes are personified…what havoc they leave in their wake.
Erica,
These lines are so clever and terribly menacing:
As if they were a posse of bandits
straight out of the wild west.
And then later.. “As if they were classmates in the hall” On one hand, this is a contrast, on the other hand, not so much.
Stay safe!
Sarah
Erica— each stanza stands alone, but together—wow! The personification is perfect, especially the posse of bandits. I can see the dust they raise as they ride in!
Thanks for this prompt today. Today’s news spoke of a young girl who had written a song two years about Sunflowers and it is now becoming very popular because the sunflower is the flower of Ukraine.
Sunflower Song
She sat in the dark
feeling the doom.
A splash of yellow
would brighten the gloom.
A bit of sunlight
on petals of gold
she began to sing,
let the story unfold.
Of strong flowers grown tall and bold
and armfuls of yellow as bright as the sun
held by the hurting people
to protest a war not yet won.
Flowers grown to show strength
and bringing a brightness
to light up the rain
and uphold the rightness.
Flowers set around the missile plants.
Yellow blooms circle Chernobyl
pulling toxins from the soil
and cleansing souls, going global.
She croons of the flower seeds
given to soldiers invading.
Not a token for friendship or affection.
And not given to be helpful or aiding.
“Just put them in your pockets”
said grandma, as a scolding curse.
“Let them sprout from your corpses
or even worse.”
And this song from the sad heart
expanded as the girl sang the story.
It lightened the gloom and also her spirit
and offered her people a promise and glory.
Sung not as an gentle offering of peace
but a symbol of defiance for sprits in need.
A call for solidarity during these dark times.
This flower song a positive, hopeful deed.
Susan — I loved the rhythm of this poem and the rhyme as it brought forward the spirit of the girl and the sunflowers. The grandma’s “scolding curse” sure made sense! Russia is making themselves the pariah of the universe in this vicious, murderous land-grab. The image of the flowers in Chernobyl…oh wow! I think it is a remarkable gesture to embrace the brilliant yellow of those flowers amidst the blood and gore of this war. Thank you! Susie
Susan,
Wow. This was really lovely. I loved the rhyme, the gentle flow of it, the vivid imagery. Loved the interesting stanza about Chernobyl. This was great!
Susan,
This is such a lovely poem of the symbol and song. I love this line, “armfuls of yellow as bright as the sun.” and want my arms to be just as full. This image of “the girl sang” to “sung not as” into “defiance for” reveals the becoming of a symbol.
Peace,
Sarah
Susie, it took a while to settle on some news. Most of it is so bad and I almost skipped today’s challenge. But I finally decided on a found poem culled from the obituaries in today’s Buffalo News:
The Departed 4/12/22
Today we,
devoted, beloved,
entered
Into rest.
With great sadness,
predeceased
by:
Sisters
Loving daughters
A dear brother
Grandchildren
Great-grandchildren
Great-great-grandchildren.
Shared condolences.
A celebration
of life.
Now
family
will receive
friends.
Survivors will include
flowers:
earnest, direct, honest.
Salt of the earth.
Dancing around
vacancy.
Friends may call.
Condolences may be made.
Infighting may hinder work.
But coping,
which is refreshing,
honoring lives
in lieu of flowers,
asks –
private, surviving –:
“How can we help?”
I’m going to have to sit with this poem. I am not sure I have the words for what it means to me right now. I appreciate the blending of the lines and a glimpse into the different ways people can mourn a passing (or celebrate a life). All of these phrases are common and yet the arrangement you have made makes them something new. Give me an arrangement of words over a flower arrangement any day.
Wendy — What a powerful idea to cull the words from the obits…they are a remarkable prompt in themselves….those heartfelt words that families try to put together amidst the deep grief of loss. When I let myself read the obits, I find that list of the pre-deceased as oddly telling…all those who remain connected despite death. “honoring lives” …the heart of where we find ourselves …yes! Your poem is fascinating. Thank you! Susie
Wendy, this is so beautifully executed. There’s something comforting about seeing the through lines in how we remember, mount and celebrate. Thanks for showing us and sharing.
Wendy,
Thank you for “honoring lives” in this way, for looking for, seeking a way to poem that served you. You looked for possibility, and for that we all see ways into and through writing in times we may resist or want to turn away (which is also okay to do).
This “Salt of the earth./Dancing around/vacancy” stirs my heart. And then to see “private, surviving-;” with the punctuation between and after — well, that has me reading into the marks but also thinking about the private surviving that happens with grief.
Peace,
Sarah
Oof. This is a gut punch. And the last line— how often is that the one people forget to do? Beautiful, heartfelt poem.
This poem is deep and hit home.
But for Now
By Mo Daley 4-12-22
The reality is that COVID 19 affects people differently
my family and I have been fortunate to elude its ravenous clutches
thus far
but I still can’t watch the news anymore
honestly, I barely skim Flipboard in the morning
the world is too much with me
and yet, it’s not with me enough
I long to travel, but for now,
I satisfy my wanderlust with quick articles on the best places to vacation
like The Top 26 Photo Spots at New Brunswick
or Bike Tours, Martha’s Vineyard, King Tut and More!
even The Best Cozumel Beaches Without the Crowds in 2022
and My 6 Favorite Whisky Distilleries to Visit in Scotland
Soon there will be plenty of time to watch news
and travel to foreign shores
but for now, I’m content to dream from the comfort of my couch
Mo,
I feel this struggle. The lines that resonate most w/ me are
“the world is too much with me
and yet, it’s not with me enough.”
Wordsworth’s poem is among my favorites, and I loved teaching it. Now I’m off to find those beaches and research Scotland’s best distilleries.
Mo — I totally get that feeling of dreaming from the couch. I just got home last night from my first time flying in 3 years…to be with family. It was no easy decision, but the vaccine really is working, so I’m beginning to feel more human. I know well from my own hesitancy in watching the news…some days are just overwhelming. The body counts through 2020 and 2021 ripped me into shreds. We have lost so many good souls. And honestly, the aftermath of those with Covid (long covid) is starting to show its ugly tentacles in some folks I know. So sad…and was so unnecessary. My next door neighbor is a scientist working on the vaccines…the good news: we couldn’t have a better person working toward our well-being. Fingers crossed you can follow that dreamy list you have going…I’d sure love to visit the distilleries in Scotland! Hugs, Susie
Susie, I’m so glad you got to travel! The scientist are the true superheroes. I wonder if your neighbor might know my hubby. His company makes the ingredients for the vaccine. My husband has been in charge of the COVID division. Talk about pressure!
Thank you, Mo, because I have also shut down most of the “news” from my news feed, and instead have become “one of those” who passes time reading the 50 newest funny cat comics on Bored Panda. (Of course, I draw comics, so that’s art study for me as much as entertainment, but still…) “not with me enough” is a poignant phrase that sums up so much for each of us – how is the world not with me enough for each of us? We are all missing it in our own ways, I am sure. Thank you for sharing the same news burnout and longing so many of us must be feeling.
Susie, your poem captures post-covid long-haul so well. Whatever our experience with the actual virus, each of us understands its “monochrome of isolation” (what a phrase!). Thank you for your beautiful words.
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/04/12/world/ukraine-war-children-parents.html
To Vira, Mama drawing
on her back is just a game.
(What does a toddler know
of birthdates and phone numbers
and the sound of distant bombs
growing closer?)
Tell me, Mama, what did you draw?
A flower? A balloon, a twinkling star?
(What could a toddler know
of the plan for her survival,
a printed name and contact number
should she be found alone?)
Where are we going?
Why can’t we visit Grandma?
Refuge in the south of France;
a mother, a child,
a sloth of teddy bears
bestowed by strangers.
Mama, don’t cry!
The stars are shining! Make a wish!
Ann I loved the way you bracketed a child’s experience from the horrific happenings all around in some way–allowed us to see both. Your poem reminded me of the film Belfast in that way. The story of the printing of information on backs broke me today. I couldn’t go there but so appreaciate that you found a way.
Wow, this is hard. And important. Thank you for bringing us here. Your use of italics & parentheses works so well to create the moment. The last two lines especially but so hard. I can’t imagine being that mom.
Oh, Ann, this is heartbreaking and your last line really made my eyes start to cry. What a time we live in. I am in San Diego and trying to keep in tune to the refugees coming across our border. So sad when children get separated from their parents. You wrote this beautifully.
Holy cow, Ann, what a stunning image this is! This stopped me in my tracks…oh my gosh…a mother thinking in this direction is just so godawful. Oh man! Spectacular poem! I truly am moved by the phone number, birthdates, and bombs in the background. Geez. WOW! Thank you for writing this important poem. Susie
The Medical Machine and the Food Court
The hulking Hickory Hollow Mall,
1.1 million square feet of retail space,
downward death spiral for more than a decade,
found new life for its dying building,
and it just happens
to be saving your ass,
saving your needy body.
Dress Barn to exam gown, cha-ching!
Let us pause in thanksgiving.
As for hospitals, they will increasingly need to reimagine
their future,
a future flush with parking spots,
a future close enough to be seen by drivers on major highways,
a future with football yardage marked on the floor for navigation,
an Inova System billion-dollar mixed use development future.
The mall-to-medicine concept is what we need,
because we found out (relatively recently)
it takes limitless space to keep you healthy–
acres and acres of space where you can one stop shop
your colonoscopy and cappuccino cravings.
If someone needs an MRI, it’s right beyond the food court.
The possibilities for service offerings in a facility of this
scale? Endless:
Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient
Medicinae Doctoris
Medicinae Machina.
Kevin,
This is a dandy poem, and I’m wondering why someone didn’t think of transforming dead malls into
“Omnipotent, Omnipresent, Omniscient
Medicinae Doctoris
Medicinae Machina.”
sooner. I’ve seen medical facilities w/ the central atrium structure common to many malls. I do my best to avoid needing doctors, but time does take a toll. Still, I think of that “you” i’m your poem as you.
yes if we call can avoid needing doctors, right . . . so much the better. Thanks very much for commenting.
Oh my gosh, Kevin! How brilliant is this!?! Wowza! I love the whole idea of this. And I love the voice…almost like a vegetable barker at an open market… “Get your red hot colonoscopy here!” LOL! But seriously, this is a dandy idea. Love the last 3 lines…indeed! Thanks for a truly different bit of news today! Susie
thank you Susie. (and I love the word Wowza too–smile). Weird times, right? I’m happy the tone came through.
thanks very much Kasey!
I decided on a blackout poem from the article titled “Grand Rapids police to release videos of officer killing Patrick Lyoya on Wednesday” by John Tunison.
Grand Rapids police
release videos
officer shooting
killed a 26-year-old man
“several sources of video”
strong language
graphic images
loss of life
Patrick Lyoya
shot and killed
April 4
shot in the back of the head
video
boydcam, dashcam, home surveillance video and a cell phone.
provide additional context
provide an update
explain next steps
Unedited
images will be blurred
Ensure integrity
justice and accountability
I thank the public
patience and understanding
forthright and transparent
Rob, I love a blackout poem. Yours really distills the article down to the important pieces. It also has a haunting quality to it, I think.
Yes, your choice to do a blackout poem here was perfect. I think events like this often feel like they’re a blur, like things are spiraling out of control, when they’re happening. And your poem carries that feel.
Oh gosh, yes, Rob! Redacting fits this perfectly. The most stirring for me is “images will be blurred” and the creepiness of “ensure integrity/justice and accountability”… how many times we’ve heard that only to find out that everything has been smeared, blurred, redacted. Terrific poem here! Thank you! Susie
Exhausting day today, Susie, and I couldn’t bring myself to get buried in a new story the way I would want, but when I can, I will do this in earnest. I LOVE the concept. I catch snippets of headlines on my phone feeds, which made me think of how I might read about my students if each of them was a line in a newsfeed. This is me just looking around one of my classes, which integrates developmental education reading/writing with college comp (if you ever want to know what a terrible idea that is, I can tell you loads).
A Typical Newsday in ENG111
1 called into work again, zooming in
2 paper didn’t upload, she burst into tears
3 sore throat, leaving to get tested
4 golf tryouts, no class all week
5 absent because of SATs
6 back after absent one week, “What did I miss?”
7, 8, 9 working ahead to finish early
10 sick kids, zooming while awaiting results
11 “in a dark place” after getting dumped
12 Why do I have an F? antagonist asks
13 & 14 couple won’t stop fighting
15 left halfway through without a word
16 late every day – grandma unreliable
17 babysitting can’t zoom
18 nodding off, worked late but trying
19 can’t pass but optimistic
20 yells at 13 &14 to keep their sh*t out of class
Headline News: Seven Awarded $1000 Scholarships for 22-23 School Year
[We wrote those scholarship essays in class, so at least something is going right…]
Not sure if I should laugh or cry! Maybe both! What a difficult situation. I love the headline news at the end – some good is happening, even with all the frustration and upsets. Hang in there!!
Oh wow, Denise — This is indeed a news poem…the collected data is so doggone real. It’s exhausting at best…whew! Every line, I can just see every line played out. This scholarships at the end…well, gee whiz, “something is going right” indeed! Amen! Hang in there…teachers RULE! They ROCK! Hugs, Susie
The frustration is relatable and you have conveyed this chaos in a comical, light-hearted way. Thank you!
This was a great way to explore ideas for a poem. I bounced from story to story until I found something different and not what I normally find in our breaking news.
Time Travel
In Tanis, North Dakota
paleontologists have brushed away
66 million years
to the day
the impactor
struck Earth.
Spherules fell
from the sky –
some suffocated
paddlefish and sturgeon
others found refuge
in tree resin,
which protected
the evidence
in amber.
Lying, waiting
to be revealed
to tell the story of
the last day
the dinosaurs
roamed the earth.
I really like your last stanza, Heather. I love the idea of the story of the last days dinosaurs roamed the earth. What a compelling tale that would be!
So cool! You have introduced me to a new word, Spherules. These discoveries are so important and should be a lesson to all of us who need to hear the story of the last days of dinosaurs. We too, are fragile.
WOW! That is awesome news! I love the title…it fits perfectly! I love the phrasing of “Paleontologists have brushed away/66 million years”—perfect image. Cool poem! Made me smile…and news that makes me smile anymore is kind of rare! Thank you! Susie
It’s interesting to consider the source of our news. So that’s my quirky query today.
Old Hat, New Phones
Daily newspapers are old hat
Most of us now know that
When you want the latest news
We just open our tablets or phones
No, not just for social gossip.
Gossiping on the phone was one way we use to get the news.
Now we have the phone, but the news will now confuse.
How can we trust what we read on the phone
With so much misinformation?
We call a friend we trust and ask if we must
Know the situation and should we really
Believe all that we read, no matter the news feed?
So now that newspapers are old hat
Most of us now know that we still have to trust the source
Even when it comes on the phone.
We have to pay attention to facts as well as listen for tone.
No, not the beep that lets us know that an update has been posted.
Who’s writing the news? Are they writing facts or just picking at a bone?
Is it empirical data or was a political foe just roasted?
Yes, Anna, yes, yes, yes! As always, I love that playful rhyme. But more importantly are the questions that you pose. Who do we trust and how do we determine that? I’m trying hard to cross-reference as much as a can and to parse out sensationalism and “news for sale”…just to get ratings versus news with clearly explained back-stories, and for heaven’s sake, evidence…scads of evidence. I so appreciate the topic you’ve tackled today and the important way you’ve asked these questions. Thank you. Susie
That first stanza is such a fantastic representation of the generational and technological shift in news reporting. I like the sort of curious analysis of “what has this phone become” as it has also shifted roles in our community lives, and how we have indeed become trained to the “beep” – news updates just about every instant. There was perhaps a luxury in only getting the news in the morning or evening paper, or on the morning and evening news channel. This is a great poem to frame discussion of the Fairness Doctrine – or lack thereof – in reporting, because, who indeed is sourcing those ‘beeps’ that we are giving so much of our attention to. What a mess it has all become, eh?
Thank you, Susie, for this thoughtful prompt and beautiful mentor text. I will always remember the imagery of the dragon when I think back on Covid! For me, I have had a tempestuous relationship with the news, especially after I decided to consciously make changes to how much I was consuming of it. In many ways, this poem was inspired by my colleagues here who have already written about so much that is currently going on and is my way of processing the news as a whole.
News Junkie
Politics a plenty
Too much death
Too many phobias
Too many seconds
Minutes
Hours
Spent on scrolling through the feeds (screen trackers are no joke!)
Catching up on what’s new and digesting
It in funny soundbites (Daily Show)
SNL,
Parodies and music to numb you to the ongoing
Cycle of death, dehumanization, and despair.
But there is good out there, news about reunions of siblings, parents, couples after
Covid, lengthy illness, and geography kept them apart.
Children lifting each other up, babies, kittens, dogs being cute, we can’t have
One without the other it seems but I’d like to think about the latter the most.
A balancing act so that the seconds
Minutes
Hours
Spent reminds us of the human experience as a whole, to grieve, to laugh, to rant, and to not let the news rule our world, but merely play a part in it.
JInan, you’ve captured so much of what I feel most days lately. It’s so hard for me to watch the news, but those short, humorous videos can suck me right in! I love how you’ve focused on balance in your poem.
Jinan– Your words are very wise. That ending line is a powerhouse: “not let the news rule our world, but merely play a part in it.” I just read Anna’s poem, and she asks some important questions on this topic. I love how you remind us to be aware of the “ongoing/cycle…” and “there is [indeed[ good out there.” Thank heavens. I’ve been a “news junkie” for decades and this really is a different time as news shifts its delivery platforms and gets every so tangled in dollars. Thank you so much for this poem. It is important for all of us. Susie
AGREE with so much of this – and not surprising to see Mo comment here as well, as it seems so many of us are being “news cautious” these days. “to not let the news rule our world, but merely play a part in it” is a critical “balancing act” as you so aptly point out. When we can ‘doom scroll’ every day into oblivion, but then do what about it – ? That’s the frustration – just carrying what we witness can become an incredible burden and stop us from indeed finding and living with joy as well. We must create our own spaces in our lives for what we can carry when we can carry it. I appreciate knowing others are also grappling with this but also being okay with sometimes just having to limit what we tune into. Thank you, Jinan.
Only the Young
Music and memories
are inextricably linked,
scientists say–
hear those first plaintive
piano notes of “Open Arms”–
you’re transported instantly back
to your first slow dance in the school gym
in 7th grade;
Zombie-stiff arms holding you and
that cute boy
as far apart as humanly possible
while your friends gawked and giggled
and you felt a feeling you had
never felt before.
Walking into the arena
for the concert,
I was struck:
“These people are all so old!”
Oh, the cruel ironies of time.
Then, the lights went down
and the keyboard rang out
the first oh-so-familiar
chords of “Don’t Stop Believin’,”
and suddenly, i felt
the years slip away–
no longer those gray-haired,
wrinkled, slowed-down
middle-agers, we were all collectively
transported back–
back to a time when life
felt so full of promise
With tears in my eyes,
I held my hands out–
we haven’t lost that flame,
that feeling,
my friends.
It’s still there, burning strong,
in each of us.
Don’t stop believin’…don’t
ever stop believin’.
Julie, what fun! Your stanza below reminded me of that hated Fridays in gym when we learned ballroom dancing. By middle school, we knew to plan ahead who’d be our partner or we’d be standing in the corner until the gym teacher forced the other “nobody” to come dance with you. Oh how poems evoke both glad and sad times from our youth. Thanks for a glad one today. (I arranged to be “picked” early.) 🙂
to your first slow dance in the school gym
in 7th grade;
Zombie-stiff arms holding you and
that cute boy
as far apart as humanly possible
while your friends gawked and giggled
and you felt a feeling you had
never felt before.
Julie — That journey back to 7th grade was priceless. Wow, do I remember that! Then, the concert with we greyed folks…well, I felt that way when I went to KC to see/hear James Taylor and Carol King… I even said, “Wow, everybody’s old here,” thinking also “oops, that includes myself.” I love how music always takes us to a time, to a place, to an age. Still “burning strong”…you bet! Thank you. Susie
Julie, thank you for writing and sharing this! And for the truth of your text: “Music and memories / are inextricably linked” and they have a way of “transport[ing] [us] back.” And thank you for the reminder — via Journey — to not “stop believin'”!
Because everything seemed too heavy today, I went with a skinny poem about a weather report!
What this week’s cold snap means for blossoming trees
Amid the whisper of Spring fall
broken
branches
but
also
broken
hearts:
no
peaches.
Broken
Fall, amid the whisper of Spring.
Love this, Rachel–the skinniness of it, a single thought of meditation. I love the last line and the idea of one season whispering into another.
I like how you play with the word “fall” in this poem. I also groaned when I got to the end: not the peaches! Broken hearts, indeed.
A skinny poem! I love this. Definitely something I’d try with my students.
Oh, Rachel — Yes, I’ve got my fingers crossed that we don’t lose peaches here in the STL area. In the next couple days, we’re going to sweep from hot to really cold with tornadoes to punctuate the mess. Oh my. A skinny poem is just the right thing for a cold snap! Thank you. Susie
This poem resonates closely with the current weather and tragic events happening here in MI. Thanks for sharing.
Susie, thank you for hosting today. I was going to take the easy way out and write about something else, but I decided that this is important. Your description of Long COVID personified as a dragon and these lines: “Instead, he coils
— a conduit of toil heaped in the corner —
and she knows the stinging burn of his breath
on her ankles;” COVID is definitely a sneaky snake lying in wait to catch its prey unexpectedly. Knowing it lingers close by, waiting on its next victim. Such great descriptive language.
I long ago stopped watching the news. I get all of my news via Google, Apple News, the radio on the way to work, and my Facebook compilation. However, this is something that I must share. Pine Bluff is my home town which houses three school districts. I don’t know if anyone has ever heard of this city, but it’s been infamously known as “Crime Bluff ” and is roughly 40 miles from Little Rock, its partner-in-crime. Most of my family, including my parents, still live there. I don’t go back unless it’s a holiday or a celebration. There have been years of school violence within all the districts here. Some just have more media attention. This one particular article where I got the inspiration for my poem, is one of many, a continuous battle of superintendent vs. students, superintendent vs. faculty, superintendent vs. the community, etc…Pine Bluff students push for more security at high school. There was a student who was killed about two weeks before this article was published. As a result, there was a student protest during the first week of April. Not even a week later (yesterday), gunshots were reported near the school. I believe all of the students and parents are just tired.
Unwavering Hope!!!
Unsafe-
Another life claimed again by gun violence!!!
Uncooperative-
Frustration from too much silence!!!
Unstable-
Grievances and realignment!!!
Unrest-
No longer civil confinement!!!
Unrealistic-
Promises aren’t that complex!!!
Uncertain-
Who’s going to die next!?!
Unhappy-
For lack of care about their security!!!
Unafraid-
Emerging from obscurity!!!
Unstoppable-
Fervor to Go forward!!!
Unapologetically-
Youth in action!!
Jessica — My heart goes out to the kids of Pine Bluff. I so appreciate your lens on an issue that, I’m guessing, will never be solved by the politicized bs of adults and only by the sheer power of “youth in action”… may they speak loud, speak nonstop, and be heard! While adults sit on their hands, wring their hands, and get nothing done. I love your poem! Love the “fervor” and the “unapologetic[ally] tone…YES! Thank you. Susie
Thank you Susie. So much has changed since I was a kid! I hope that these kids influence the right individuals to get things done! They want better!
Jessica, thank you for your insightful, painful, honest sharing of this. I know Pine Bluff; my family lived in Little Rock for two years, a transfer with my husband’s work; my son was in marching band and we visited there. Your technique of single word lines, each beginning with “Un” is so wonderfully emphatic – such protest words. I am particularly riveted by “Unafraid – Emerging from obscurity!!!” I hear hope woven in here, youth and families having had ENOUGH.
Okay Maureen, I’m glad you know. Very few people know. And thank you so much! I decided to speak from the voice of a student. And hope is indeed alive. It just needs the right spark to keep the flame going. Thank you!
I’m familiar with Pine Bluff, Jessica. As soon as I saw another Arkansas poem I had to stop and read. I think the poem captures your frustrations and the feeling of “tired” that you mentioned in the beginning, but I also appreciate that there is still hope. I like that not all of the “un” words are negative which I think is what helps with that.
Awesome Erica! And thank you, that twist was intentional! There is definitely still hope. It just takes the right people with the right mindset. And if I may ask…who shared another Arkansas poem? I’m going to have to go back and look through them again.
Diamond Experts Weigh In
on Jennifer Lopez’s
Extremely Rare
Green Diamond Engagement Ring
from Ben Affleck
Bennifer
So glad you rekindled
Your romance
For your story should
Stay awake in our consciousness
We should dream
Of a green diamond
For the experts have weighed in
Why do we care so much about
Celebrity minutiae
About who’s wearing Prada
Influencers on social media
Martha Stewart
Hawks DIY sunflower wreaths
Dipped in yellow and blue
$17.99 Returns accepted
We wear 1928 jewelry
Limited edition
Peace Ukraine Pendant Necklaces
GET YOURS in bold letters
For 45 USD
We numb ourselves
From contemplating “WMD’s”
Weapons of Mass Destruction doesn’t have that ring
or does it:
“The green diamond gets the color
by being exposed to uranium”
Uranium accounts for 93.5% of the
Current Nuclear Weapons
But you won’t find that juxtaposition on
Entertainment Tonight
Jennifer — This poem ROCKS! I LOVE the voice! That screaming “LOOK IN THE MIRROR AND PULL YOUR heads out of the sand! I know the news is hard and the news is confusing and the news is unpleasant…but we have work to do on this “one precious life” we have on this planet. I say this after having this exact conversation with my niece just this week as the airwaves were ga-ga with JLo and Ben — oh pulllleeeese! Thank you so much for this firecracker poem! Susie
Jennifer, thank you for this poem! I also learned of the engagement thanks to social media feeds and in many ways, your poem reads like a social media feed but in a critical way! Well-said!
Stunning. Excellent poem. I like how you build the story with each stanza, questioning our obsession with celebrity – and then really clarifying what it means –
“The green diamond gets the color
by being exposed to uranium”
Uranium accounts for 93.5% of the
Current Nuclear Weapons
Jennifer, this is Reason Number 1938493 why I stopped watching the news on television! The most important things are overshadowed by the latest celebrity scandal or wedding. These lines made me laugh:” Martha Stewart
Hawks DIY sunflower wreaths
Dipped in yellow and blue
$17.99 Returns accepted” because even Martha Stewart is old news. She’s just rich. Blame TikTok for the famous now. Returns accepted because even that looks like cheap knockoffs! But this line, “But you won’t find that juxtaposition on
Entertainment Tonight” resonated with me. I rarely see juxtaposition or a form of the word, but you definitely defined it loud and clear in your poem. It makes you wonder what’s really important in the world. Thank you for sharing!
Just WOW! I love the message and how you got there.
I love the humor you were able to find within this prompt. Loved the structure used and how it shifted between the topics. I could easily picture you reading through the paper while writing this. Thanks for sharing!
Thanks for this perfect expression of the absurdity of “celebrity minutiae”. Bravo ~ a much needed commentary!
Bam! Your gradual lead-up to the big reveal is dynamite. Can’t think of a better way for the “truth” to be revealed.
Jennifer, this is one heck of a poem! Full of information and a great perspective on our society and its values. I like your last thought about the diamond’s color coming from Uranium that accounts for our nuclear weapons. What a priority our society has!
NEWS
Breaking NEWS from NYC
Shooter on the Subway in
Brooklyn-Many hurt,
several severe injuries
Waking up hearing the news in CA
Daughter lives and works in Brooklyn
and takes the subway to work
daily to Manhattan
“She’s safe, she’s fine..”
Check cell phone again, no news
“Keep your concern and panic
away Mother”
“Where’s your faith girl?”
I text her and of course there’s
no response yet
I imagine her on a stretcher
with her eyes closed
Then I vigorously shake my head
and imagine her standing
in the crowd with all the safe people
underground, annoyed that they
can’t leave because they’re
being questioned by the police
about the suspect(s)
Breaking NEWS
There aren’t any fatalities
Thank GOD
However there was
smoke inhalation, shrapnel and panic in the attack,
and the suspect is
“at large”
I always hated that term.
Why don’t they just say,
“we can’t find this person and
we don’t know where he is” ?
I text my other daughter who is
out of the country, thinking she can help
and she hasn’t heard anything, of course.
We chat and she isn’t worried at all
because she’s not a mother.
Five minutes later, I finally exhale when
my Sydney texts and says, “My boss
has spinach in her teeth. Should I tell her?”
Someone mentioned the subway incident
during her meeting but they were all so busy
none had checked their phones to realize
what a major catastrophe it was.
By Seana Hurd Wright
4/12/2022
Oh, Seana! To think that you and your daughter WERE the news that day…whether it was reported in the accurate way that you just reported it or not…your waiting and questioning and waiting some more and verifying and fact-checking…whew. I was so relieved to get to the detached (and funny) line about spinach in the boss’ teeth. The tension that family carries every time a news bit flashes across the screen or on the airwaves…oh geez. You captured that tension with the texts and the time lapses and the “exhale.” Good stuff here! Thank you! Susie
Seana, your poem captures exactly how family and friends feel during catastrophic situations like this. The lifeline of a text or call and then the relief when it comes through. I felt it and hope that the news continues with no fatalities to report! Thank you for helping process yet another mass shooting with this poem.
Wow! That had to be terrifying, waiting to hear. I am in awe of your daughter’s levity/reality check: spinach in her boss’ teeth…a chuckle of release after an emotionally exhausting day. I hear you, agree with you:
Why don’t they just say,
“we can’t find this person and
we don’t know where he is” ?
WHEW Seana! First of all, thank God your daughter is safe. Second of all, I now understand the so many emotions that a mother goes through. Both of my children are still in the home and even when they go on a school trip, my mind wanders down dangerous alleyways. Your use of inner dialogue works perfect here. It’s what we really want to say when the media refuses to acknowledge. These lines I can tell bring you comfort:” Five minutes later, I finally exhale when
my Sydney texts and says, “My boss
has spinach in her teeth. Should I tell her?” It’s odd though how no one even knew. I check my phone throughout the day and gasp at news. I did that earlier when I read about Gilbert Gottfried. One of the students was like “What?!” I quickly said, “Nothing. Something I just read.” Didn’t even want to go there. Thank you for sharing.
Girl, don’t we wish we could be as carefree as we were before becoming moms. You got this right…
Woooweeee, I know this was unsettling for you and I’m so grateful God kept your daughter safe. The pace and emotion come through with every line.
❣️Grateful heart!
I almost wrote about this story. How scary this must have been for you. I love how your story intertwines with the breaking news story to create a new story.
Seana, thank you so much for sharing. This is still so fresh and the emotions so raw. I appreciate you opening up and letting us into your brain. I cannot imagine how it must have felt to be waiting to find out. You were able to beautifully lead us through such an emotional journey.
Wow…terrifying. I love the line…and she isn’t worried at all because she’s not a mother. Of course a mother would be worried, I was worried for you! But I love the twist of the spinach in the teeth…a light ending to a heavy piece of news. Thanks for your poem Seana.
Susie, what a prompt! I had to give this some time, to process and let things simmer, as news always provokes and I wanted to do justice to your inspiration. Your imagery is brilliant – the dragon against the legion, the monochrome of isolation, a moonflower offering petals. Lovely. I came across an image today, a left over from the attack on the Ukrainian train station. It was horrifying. I can’t unsee it. And I can’t bring myself to write of the full story behind it.
Broken News
A child
(any child will do – you pick
because someone did
whether purposely or inadvertently –
though pre-meditation requires purpose –
this random child once had purpose;
the age is not as important
as it might have been the day before
or even minutes before – but let me
start again as I have been distracted by the life
that once was)…
#post
(5am)
A child’s
stuffed horse
lay discarded,
#traumatic
stained in iron ichor
the only reminder of the life
that hugged it close.
#stress
44 days in and the war crimes
continue to unfold,
twitter-hashed and tagged
one after another
#disorder
Jennifer,
“Broken News” is exactly right for describing the fragmentation of broken hashtags, I was reading that a major concern in Ukraine is we in western democracies will lose interest in Ukraine’s struggle. Trending hashtags and recent reports validate this concern. Where once a hashtag trended on average 28 hours, it now trends around 11 hours. The image of that childless stuffed horse , the image of that child whose life had purpose before evil stole their dreams, these atrocities are beyond my feeble ability to capture in words. Powerful poem, my friend.
Jennifer — Your poem does indeed do justice to the horror…war and children… oh my god…the “stuffed horse/lay discarded” is a powerful image in this backdrop. “ichor”… wow…good word (and new one for me..I will definitely steal this). The play on “twitter-hashed and tagged” — “one after the other”…oh geez…the very grim “tag[ging] of bodies is so ghastly and real here. The title is spot-on. Really a powerful poem…and sadly, one that will resonate for some time to come…damn, I wish I were wrong. Thank you. Susie
Jennifer, I purposefully read the poem before reading your introduction and I am so glad I did. I loved how broadly you started with the imagery and I was able to apply it to so many things happening in our world. The world you created is beautiful and heartbreaking. Thank you for spending the time to let this “simmer.”
Your poem is powerful and gut-wrenching. The line breaks, hashtags, and use of parentheses are so effective.
Wow! This can certainly be used on a lesson for found poetry or cross-curricularly in social studies. I tend to fall into rabbit holes, but I don’t have time today to do so . . . practice standardized testing. I went to the first article I saw on the AP and it reads almost like poetry. I basically pulled chunks of text from the article and formatted it as a poem. It’s hard to believe it’s from the news. Here is the article: It’s Not the End
Fragile Renewal
The coffin was made from pieces of a closet.
In a darkened basement
under a building shaking
from the bombardment
of war.
Vlad’s mother was carried out of the shelter
to a neighboring yard.
The burial was hurried and devastating.
His dad dropped to his knees
at the foot of the grave.
Vlad placed on her grave
a juice box and two cans of baked beans.
He barely knows how to move on.
No children have been seen
in the silent streets since then.
Casings of used artillery shells
are littered
along a fence in the yard.
a wooden box once used
for ammunition
holds a teddy bear
and other toys.
It is here that
fragile renewal
can be seen . . .
Finding distraction from the war
bundled up in winter coats,
they kick a football, wander
around with bags of snacks
handed out by visiting volunteers.
In the feeble warmth of spring
after weeks in freezing basements,
Vlad curled up on a bed
with another boy and played cards.
Now it’s calm and quiet,
but it’s not the end . . .
the war has slipped into the games they play:
Vlad and a friend “bombed” each other with fistfuls of sand.
“I’m Ukraine,” Vlad said.
“No, I’m Ukraine,” said the other.
~Susan Ahlbrand
12 April 2022
Oh my word, Susan, this is stunning… as if the first half of the poem weren’t raw with the images of what happens to the children, to the dads and moms fallen in war…but the image of children replaying war games innocently in the aftermath. Holy smokes this is gut wrenching. The coffin constructed from a closet set the poem in the center of the war’s cross-hairs, and then that lens just gets more and more magnified. “Fragile Renewal” and “it’s not the end” are both a glimmer of hope and a sting, given the image of children tossing “sand bombs.” You pulled a great poem out of that article…one I will remember. Thank you. Susie
Susan, my heart breaks for every bit of this war. Your details, the cobbled together coffin, the ammunition box holding the bear, the food atop the grave, speak to the ramifications, as does the child play of “bombing” one another. And those last two lines – wow.
Thank you, Susie, for this prompt. As a journalism teacher, and someone who focuses alot of my class time on nonfiction writing and on reading literature through the lens of history, paying attention to the world around us is a practice that I focus on in class.
Today is a particularly brutal news cycle, but the story that I can’t look away from is the breaking story of the subway shooting in Brooklyn today. Here’s a link to the story: https://abc7ny.com/brooklyn-shootings-subway-shooting-sunset-park-new-york/11740555/
My City Bleeds
My city bleeds.
A masked man sets off a smoke bomb on a crowded train,
A green cloud billows from opening subway doors, vomiting chaos.
Shots fired, the crowd flees, victims stumble away, wounded, disoriented–
This is not a Marvel movie, no superhero will save the day
And there will be no post credit scene; there will be hastily arranged
Press conferences, platitudes and promises, partisan posturing,
Finger pointing and finger wagging, hashtags and trending topics.
My city bleeds.
This is not Gotham. There is no Bat Signal to give us hope.
There is only us. The crowd scurries up the station steps to the street,
Shepherded into a bodega, an everyman channels his inner hero, as everymen do,
yet the villain looms, faceless behind his mask–
Fear embodied, ubiquitous. Nowhere and everywhere.
New Yorkers are resilient. 9/11 is invoked. The pronoun “we”.
But we are not okay.
My country bleeds.
It’s no one’s fault and everyone’s.
We will drive each other away. We will retreat further into our corners.
Seek safety in narratives. Comfort ourselves with familiarity.
Pacify our passions with the elixir of time. It will happen again.
Somewhere else. At a safe distance. Today it is here. Again.
What a powerful poem, especially the third stanza where “It’s no one’s fault and everyone’s.”
Dave — Seana wrote about this today as well. I believe in the power of our words in spaces like this to sow seeds of our responsibility as people, as journalists, as wordsmiths to help stanch the “bleed[ing] by illuminating the truth of the ironies, the truth of the horrors of violence, of faceless murderers. I so believe the line “it’s no one’s fact and everyone’s” as we remain paralyzed to find the way past “Finger pointing and finger wagging, hashtags and trending topics” — Your power speaks to me! The title sets the stage…and the bleeding is, indeed, the country drowning in the “elixir of time.” (great phrase) Thank you for this important poem! A must-read! Susie
Dave, the piece I started today (about Ukraine) shifted into the trauma of seeing this event pop up midday and I started to incorporate it into my writing, as the traumas keep compiling. But it became too much. Your words resonate. The repetition of “My city bleeds” reinforces the “It will happen again.” Unfortunately. And we just keep watching and hoping it’s not us – but it will be and will be more than once. If only this wasn’t true.
This is raw and real and so thought-provoking; these lines, so painfully true, speaking to the inertia we seem to be in:
My country bleeds.
It’s no one’s fault and everyone’s.
We will drive each other away. We will retreat further into our corners.
A green cloud vomiting chaos ~ wow. My city bleeds. There is no bat signal. No one to save us. It seems I’m just repeating your lines when I want to scream, wake up everyone! This is a powerful poem of reckoning.
Susie, the mentor poem by Martin Espada was absolutely stunning, powerful; thank you for this. Your poem on long COVID was also inspirational and moving – the image of the dragon waiting, coiling, watching…ready to strike…”the stinging burn of his breath”…this really speaks to the mystery and pain of these horrid symptoms.
Not sure it’s really necessary to link a news article to my poem – we’ve been living through this for these past years…this is a recent opinion piece:
https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2022/04/07/democratic-governors-bulwark-democracy/
our seedling
democracy is a garden
steady hard work
taking care to maintain
a good nourishing soil
every day due diligence
tilling turning toiling
planting tamping
watering weeding
nurturing
growing
stormy times days of frost
too much wind or rain
the gardener is vigilant
remember how
the glass blower’s cloche
protected the vulnerable
sprout
how do we tend
our seedling
democracy
in this time of tempest
Maureen,
Your gardening metaphor for democracy is apropos given, as you say, “we’ve been living through this a while.” The “tempest” has unearthed the seedlings, requiring replanting. We witness this among potato farms here sometimes. This is the question for which we need an answer:
“how do we tend
our seedling
democracy
in this time of tempest”
Maureen — I love the references to the gardening…the seeds, the cloche, the weather conditions…the metaphor is rich, dare I say loamy! You ask the pivotal question at the end…”how do we” not poison the plant? Well done! Thank you. Susie
Good question, Maureen, that you’ve posed in your closing stanza. One way, is getting to know one another right here, writing poetry together. Sometimes it’s knowing other care make us careful.
Thanks for the reminder that we have a part in protecting the vulnerable, even when that vulnerable one is ourself.
Hi Susie, thank you for your prompt and of course your inspiring mentor poem. This sums up how I feel nowadays:
I want to believe we are safe and free to move about as our maskless selves, but it’s frightening. Thank you for putting it into perspective, my friend.
I chose a Huff Post interview for my inspiration. Interview with Treva B. Lindsey about her new book America, Goddam: Violence, Black Women, and the Struggle for Justice
History, Harm, and Hope
Black women and girls
struggle to survive
this life, where harm
is happening.
America, study
the history
and acknowledge the stakes
still, Black women and girls
grow and persevere
America, hunger for a
radical kind of honesty
to recognize
intracommunal violence
against Black women and girls
but Black men and boys
need protection too
from those
who harm them silently
America, it’s time
to divest and dismantle
white supremacy
and police violence
examine harm
where Black homes
enclose and summon danger
Black people,
hope resides in
active practice
interrupt and intervene
in violent encounters
imagine, believe, and dream
for our lives
to carry on
what our ancestors accomplished
and never forget
reasons to believe in us.
©Stacey L. Joy, 4/12/22
Stacey,
Im adding this book to my TBR. I read a lot on nonfiction dealing w/ social justice. The direct address both to America and to black people is powerful and embodies a sermon-like quality. As your verse on white supremacy and police violence implies, we need a lot of self-reflection and honest confession as a country. Until that happens, we will be a nation that ultimately God damns.
Well alright Stacey! I have to buy this book. Your poem spoke to me and means everything and these lines mean the most, “still, Black women and girls
grow and persevere.” Because as you know, no matter what, most Black mothers make sure their daughters flourish despite the environment, school, home, and socioeconomic circumstances. Thank you for these amazing words from your soul today.
I love the space that you give these stanzas. “Examine ham where black homes enclose and summon danger” speaks loudly.
I don’t know if you know Damaris Hill’s newest book “Breath Better Spent” but it’s a book of historical poetry that shines a light, especially, on black girls surviving in America. https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/breath-better-spent-9781635576627/
No, thanks for sharing that! ?
Stacey — Yes, that undeniable sage voice is here and it’s important. I’ll be checking in on T. Lindsey’s book…thank you for this. The struggles are real and a new “radical …honesty” is needed on so many levels. I like the way you address America and you address “Black people”… I love your sure voice, one that recognizes the evils of white supremacy… and
You have a strong call in this poem to reckon with the twisted mess of how white power-brokers have screwed up opportunity for all those who are not white, and I hear it, want it, and appreciate it. I sure as heck believe in you, Stacey! Thank you. Susie
Sunflowers
By Nancy White
Sunflowers springing up everywhere
In open fields, in the neighbor’s garden,
Golden upturned faces
Stand like soldiers turned to face General Sun.
Reminding me there’s a war going on
And I feel helpless
As I spot an ad for a sunflower tee shirt
With the message “Life Is Good”.
Mayan yellow petals touch Cerulean sky
I’m drawn to the black hole stamen and stigma
Imagining charred cities
And horrifying destruction of life
Today I will paint a sunflower
I will pray and shed some tears
Sad, angry, frustrated, hot, salty tears
To water the blurred blue and yellow on my page.
Wonderful imagery in your poem Nancy. It is such a tumultuous time for all of us and it can feel a bit “off” celebrating the start of spring and new beginnings when there are so many across the world who are not fortunate enough to feel this restart occur. Your poem shows that humanity is still alive and well though.
“Mayan yellow petals touch Cerulean sky
I’m drawn to the black hole stamen and stigma
Imagining charred cities
And horrifying destruction of life”
The contrast here is wonderful! The horror within the beauty…
Nancy,
Such a stark contrast between the title and image of “Mayan yellow petals touch Cerulean sky” and the “black hole” the “charred cities.” I do know the power of poetry, the power of words, the power of symbols, and yet they feel so insufficient as you return to in the final lines “blurred blue and yellow on my page.”
Thank you, though, for this reflection and invitation to witness.
Sarah
Nancy — I think you were channeling my sister today. As she chokes down the horrors of the Ukraine being decimated, she was so torn. She is my eldest sister and and artist. She recently did a piece that honors the Ukraine’s yellow and blue flag…your poem did that for me as well. Those sunflower and that blue are signs of hope amid the “charred cities.” A truly inspiring poem. Thank you! Susie
I did not include explicitly harmful language and edited direct quotes that were divisive but could be interpreted as inclusive. The italics are from our trans community speakers. We are attending the board meeting tonight and have a great community organizer facilitating the process for trans rights/student rights.
School Board Meeting, March 8th
Transgender youth targeted by adults in district–
misunderstanding, fearing, claiming
our children are predatory, threatening to
cischildren in our school’s bathrooms:
Pastor: “We must protect our children…”
Doctor: “Every somatic cell in our body tells us
who we are…”
Professor: “Resoundingly yes! Title IX can protect…”
Transgender youth are not
inherently violent, not predatory,
pose no risk in gendered
bathrooms– yet restrict fluids,
use othered facilities
unwelcome in signed
school spaces.
As a girl, I don’t feel safe
in a boy’s bathroom.
To the board, I ask
keep me safe.
Take interest in
who I am,
how I am.
Parent: “Adolescences is hard to navigate–
hard enough without
outside opinions
interference.”
Disavow transphobia in our
school community, prioritize
safety of transgender students over
discomfort of adults. We are sorry
that your rights are being debated.
Board: “I’m sure we’ll have some things to think about. Next meeting April 12th.”
Sarah, your poem makes my heart hurt. Love how you show the issue and perspectives here. Obviously, caring deeply for transgender students is absent in this situation. Ugh! Awesome poem! Thank you!
The italics are queer voices who spoke at the board meeting, but I tried to write this in a way that some of the quotes can be interpreted as inclusive and/or divisive. Many of the anti-speakers conflated gender and sexuality throughout their statements.
Thank you, Sarah. I can only imagine how frustrating it would be to witness this meeting.
This is powerful. As a parent of a transgender child, the struggle is real and real harm is being done every moment of every day that these children are made to feel like they are somehow not okay or less than. “We are sorry that your rights are being debated.” is a devastatingly true statement. And the last line… leaves me without words.
The board meeting is tonight, and we have been organizing to support our trans community, which is OUR community.
I hope that you are able to get through to the school board the need for concrete action to protect these kids–our kids.
Sarah,
I hope you share this poem w/ teachers and students who may not see it here in this space. Your words are vital:
Disavow transphobia in our
school community, prioritize
safety of transgender students over
discomfort of adults.
Like Barb, my heart hurts and my stomach churns thinking about vulnerable trans students.
The Board’s response. Ugh. And so very real. I live in a very red county in a blue state. Our Board is extremely proud of their bias. I am angry at every meeting I attend.
This resonated for me as the aunt of a new niece. Thank you for this.
Sarah — Thank you for this important call to see our children for who they are: people. I so appreciate words like “disavow” and “signed school spaces” (as if the sign were somehow benign…those signs are unkind and like bible verses in the hands of the judgmental and self righteous, they are wielded like swords and manipulated when convenient. Thank you for the truth. Susie
Sarah, thank God for YOU being a voice and a safe space for our youth, especially our trans youth. I sure hope the outcome of the meeting tonight is favorable. Please give us an update.
At the core of it all is why can’t people CARE beyond themselves????
Praying for all to be safe and cared for.
This poem touched me as I remember how poorly my district handled similar situations. As my young nephew prepares to start school, I can only hope things change.
displaced children
leave everything behind.
home.
school.
family.
displaced children
being adopted by families that are not their own
mothers and fathers
searching endlessly
for their children
uprooted by war.
displaced children
go to sleep hungry
and wake up starved
displaced children
no longer have education
schools turned to shelters
lessons in science quickly turned to
survival
displaced children
kidnapped
sold
raped
tortured
killed
displaced children
are the victims
of
war.
UN: Nearly Two-Thirds Of Ukraine’s Children Have Fled Homes In Past 6 Weeks
https://www.huffpost.com/entry/russia-ukraine-war-displaced-children_n_62554067e4b06c2ea322afe1
Shaye,
The repetition of “Displaced children” here is powerful. Every word of your poem voices the tragedy adults foisted on children. I think about the Ukrainian people and the tragedy of this war of choice daily and believe we have a moral obligation to bear any cost to protect them and their democracy.
Shaye,
The repetition here is haunting in what is absence and what is present in the destruction. The single words on each line are symbolic of the movement to the next line, and this poem could go on and on representing the unimaginable toll.
While today’s poetry will be heavy, I see how we are holding up mirrors and witnessing in verse today.
Sarah
Shaye — A valuable poem of conscience, of wake-up, of lost children. Displaced…we’ve come to this term to assuage and to make less of what you make so clear here…they aren’t just in the wrong place, they are our collateral shame as we wage war and children pay the most wicked price. You are the voice of reason here. Thank you. Susie
Thank you, Susie, for a great prompt, and yes slay the dragon!!!
Reel ‘um in Newz
Skateboard wreck on Eye-85,
Johnny hit the tank, but the Shark is still alive.
The Great White flipped and fell into Potato Creek,
Johnny is alright, but his knee is weak.
We caught up with a fisherman downstream,
He said he almost had a heart attack before he dialed in the recue team.
Stating “The shark was huge- with big ol’ jaws,
With a fat belly- just like Santa Clause!
He flipped out the creek near the bridge,
Jumped on the back of a black bear and rode down that ridge!”
So, folks we have a shark on the loose,
Running wild like a detached caboose.
Use caution if you see it around,
Immediately-
Call the dog catcher in your town.
Because this thing is mean and fierce,
With 150 teeth ready to pierce!
Will keep you updated every morning and at noon,
We hoping to get live coverage at 6pm this afternoon.
Latest report:
The shark has been reported in Olympic Park,
Tearing up trees and eating its bark.
A homeless man said the shark snatched his tin can,
Said he had a million dollars in there, because he was headed to Disneyland.
A red headed woman dressed like a clown,
Laughed and said she saw it downtown-
Attacking the Big Chicken outside of Sav-a-lot,
But he spit it out because it was spicy-hot.
Then he broke into a Honda and sped away,
Held up a peace sign- like he was from LA?
The police tailed him for miles,
Until they all crashed into a pond of crocodiles.
The shark plipped and plotted on each one,
Got to the other bank and stuck out his tongue.
Enraged officers, pulled and shot their pistols,
As they slipped in the mud and fell in the thistles.
Geese fell from the sky,
Eleven officers were injured, but only had black eyes.
So, the Great White made a clean get-away
Join us at 11,
to hear what officers had to say!
Breaking News:
We just spoke with Alien #1 from UFO,
Said he spotted a shark flopping towards Mexico.
A sasquatch confirmed it to,
Growled it was disguise, wearing feathers and flew.
A trio of leprechauns said it was lies and untrue,
The giant cyclops caught it and was eating it in a fish stew!
Who knows who to believe?
It’s like trying to catch a pelican sneeze.
Of all these sightings- Which ones are fake?
Join us for answers on local news at eight.
Updated Report
No sighting of the shark in six whole days,
Johnny has healed and back to his skateboard ways.
So, if you ever riding down eye-85,
Look all around for the great white that is still alive.
He could be, in the bushes or in a tree,
Or on an island,
‘sipping lemonade with Elvis, Tupac, and Biggie.
– Boxer
Boxer, what a hoot! Love how you organized these stanzas. I need to find that island:)
This is the antidote to today’s news cycle that I didn’t know that I needed, but that I clearly did. I wasn’t sure what I was reading at first and then I was hooked! I love the structure, and I’m not sure if this was the intended effect, but I hear it in my head as a rollicking Dylan-esque folk song! This was fun and subversive! Thank you!
Boxer—needed the lightness this morning—and I am SURE it’s all true!! The updated report sealed the deal!
Boxer M – Holy mackeroly! This is PRICELESS! This is absolutely hilarious and brilliant. The wild ride of it…the wack-a-doodle of it… where on earth did you get this marvelous chaos? The rhyming is playful and so just-right…not forced or mere rhyme for the sake of rhyming…it is witty! I love that! The breakdown from “Reel Um in Newz” to “Latest Report” to “Breaking” to “Updated” is such a fun play on the over-hyped nonsense on the networks. Your cast of characters is just inventive and fresh and wonderful. While I was trying to see, in my rereading and laughing, if I had favorite lines (I don’t actually since I fell in love with the whole poem), I thought perhaps these two were especially dandy:
I want to steal that pelican sneeze, for sure.
I think you ought to find a collection of the “fantastic” in your and publish this poem in that collection. Your take on all sorts of news might be a heck of poetry book! I’d love it. I’d buy it! If you’ve ever done a poetry reading or if you think you’d do one sometime ahead, be sure to resurrect this one… it’ll put the audience in stitches. Thank you. Susie
I learned
today
that the
Australian
feral pig,
a boar
named
Swino,
perished
on the side
of the road
not far from
the Port
Hedland
campsite
where he
stole
(and drank)
18 beers
before starting
a fight
with a local
cow,
which,
sorta,
reminded me
of when
the modern
art exhibit
“Complex
Shit,”
a giant
inflatable
dog turd
the size
of a house,
broke free
from its
moorings,
soared
through the
air, and
crashed
into an
orphanage.
Truth,
it seems,
can,
indeed,
be stranger
than
fiction.
_______________________________
Articles:
“Pig Steals Campers Beer, Gets Drunk & Starts a Fight with a Cow”
https://www.outdoorrevival.com/featured/pig-steals-campers-beer-gets-drunk-starts-a-fight-with-a-cow.html?chrome=1
“Giant Dog Turd Wreaks Havoc at Swiss Museum”
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2008/aug/12/3
Scott, I was waiting for this. My instinct was to find news of the weird and almost went with this story of a man, some meth, two guns, and alligator (another day in Florida). Love the linear lines with how you write. If only an inflatable dog turd would float by my house right now to bring joy to a rainy day in the northeast. Wonderful.
You have a strange and wonderful mind, Scott. Dog turds and pig theft, fight with a cow. In one beautifully arraigned poem. What would we do without you?
Scott, wow, your poem is an hysterical adventure. I bet the orphans will never forget the dog turd balloon! Loved the art exhibit reference. Still laughing!
I love the direction you took this Scott. Your sense of humor is echoed within this poem as well as your creativity. The ending stanza regarding truth and fiction leaves a strong impression on the reader.
Scott,
This swiney report reminds me of Animal Farm and when I learned how like humans pigs are back in 1979. These seemingly crazy news stories are a perfect jumping off point for students, too. I must see which Swiss museum had the turd mishap since I was just in Basel, Switzerland a couple weeks ago.
Scott,
Thank you for welcoming us into current and past events and places that made the news to show the truth that is very real but tucked away in pockets of our world. Love how you dive into the fissures and pull lines, drag words down the page to invite our eyes to follow the uncovering of events that intersect in your telling!
Sarah
Scott — LOLOLOLOL! This is so totally goofy (albeit tragic for that po’ pig). Your image of the giant turd set sail from its tethers and colliding with the orphanage…how screwball can it get?! You and Stefani B were channeling the crazy today! Love it! Love it! Love it! Susie
Scott, I’m thankful for this breather news in the midst of so much that disheartens. These two events seem impossible and impossibly funny, despite the sad ending for the feral pig. I’m trying to envision how inflatable turds might ever be imagined as art – the soaring and crashing, yes, but the stationary inflatable, not so much.
GOOD. HEAVENS. I wonder how this was explained to the orphans?? And that pickled pig…I wonder if it was the beer or the beef that took him out. Alas. It IS complex. All of it. Except, of course for the humor… much needed and appreciated (although I am sorry for the rogue swine and his unfortunate choices).
Love this challenge! I was inspired by this NYT story–I even kept each line to four syllables like the headline itself : )
watch your step.
Far down the page —
past news of war,
past opinions
and perfume ads,
past covid charts
& feelgood stuff
(this one about
arctic penguins) —
“Rain Boots We Love“.
And I recall:
It’s April now.
Spring has returned.
I saw it just
today parking
under budding
trees — a sky grey
with the promise
of that patter
that redirects
human focus.
And tomorrow
all of the girls
will reach way back
in their closets
for the right shoes.
Pulling bootstraps
over bare legs,
toes & soles gleam
wet & bright with
long awaited
rain, finally
just underfoot.
Click through my blog for more stuff I’ve written! : )
This was such a fun poem to read and interact with. I love how you linked different articles within your poem. You took one poem and created an experience out of it, well done.
Joel, your poem is beautiful. Love the focus on spring’s arrival and how you reach this realization. Love, love, love stanzas 4 and 5. The action of the girls pulling on their bootstraps is also lovely.
Joel,
This is no small thing, the recommending of the just right rain boot, sneaker for hiking, snow boot, all kinds of footwear. I had to strap on my snow boots this morning because it’s not rainy season here. We’re still braving blizzards. My favorite verse is
“with the promise
of that patter
that redirects
human focus.”
Cheers to keeping those dogs dry!
How clever to keep the syllable count from the title! I may have to try that some time! (I think I do better with structure) And you give us so many images with my favorite being:
Pulling bootstraps
over bare legs,
toes & soles gleam – I imagine painted toe nails that are so much more visible once we get rid of winter gear!
Joel — this is delightful… nothing quite like pulling those just-right boots out of the back of the closet to tackle spring rains and those delicious puddles. I like the short lines patter sort of like rain on the pathway. I love those first lines that take us down the newspaper page and past the “perfume ads,” a delightful journey in itself. Fun! Susie
Susie, thank you for hosting today. Your poem is chilling. I especially loved your metaphor: “a moonflower heeding/a siren’s song to lay open her petals”. Your ending “she cannot bring herself/ to touch” is like the death knell, illustrating the pandemic’s cruelty by cutting off everything we want to hold near. Powerful and stunning poem. I am as always awestruck by your amazing poetry!
Scorch, Maim, Burn
to scorch the earth
plant bombs
unexploded shells, deadly
mines
to maim the world
desecrate schools
leave mothers grieving
kill
to burn our hearts
rape children,
women; bury sweet
babes
Barb Edler
12 April 2022
thank you, Barb, for this brave look at our here & now. I admire how each stanza gets whittled down to a single word, resolving in the last stanza with the most vulnerable
Barb,
This sparse verse is a slap in the face of reality. “Scorch, Maim, Burn” is precisely what’s happening. It makes me so angry. So many are just like Nazi sympathizers and citizens in towns where concentration camps were weaponized against children. Your poem makes us look, makes us see, and challenges the west to act.
Barb — You have honed the scope right into “scorch[ing], maim[ing], burn[ing] — oof… humans are pretty damned awful. Thank heavens for humans like you and the many poets here who do not “scorch, maim, burn.” The single words of “mines…kill…babes” absolutely carry the weight in the poem as a whole. Shrewd construction, my friend! We have to re-subscribe to News of the Weird…it used to make me laugh at every edition… I haven’t looked at it in years and now wonder if it is still published…I’ll be googling later today. We both need some funny, goofy news. Also, thank you for your kind words. Hugs, Susie
I recently heard reporting that vets have suicide rates twice as high as the general public.
https://www.npr.org/2019/09/07/757822004/veterinarians-are-killing-themselves-an-online-group-is-there-to-listen-and-help
The Vet
By: Emily Yamasaki
it can manifest
in grief
in anger
in shock
every so often you get relief
the eyes of the human
will always let on more
than the eyes of the pet
the thickness of emotion
chokes the air
until there’s nothing left
just someone’s baby
slipping away
across the rainbow
a human
in denial or acceptance
Oh
and there’s you
the bearer of devastating news
heart on fire, bursting
Very powerful look into the heart & experience & eyes of those who serve. I love how you whittle the stanza length down to that exclamation “oh”
Btw, a few weeks ago for Vietnam Vet day, I wrote this for / about my dad, a vet himself
Emily,
Both my sons are veterans, so this is something I think about often, especially as I’ve witnessed the psychological cost their service demanded. Honestly, I begged them not to enlist, but they did anyway, so your poem hits my heart: Yes, they’re “just someone’s baby / slipping away /across the rainbow.” Truth is the world doesn’t really care all that much, not during the war and certainly not after.
Emily — You had me in your cross-hairs with this poem. Having made that “heart on fire, bursting” trip to the vet in 2020 with my dear Watty Boy, this poem graphically bring the “eyes” back…the “thickness” in “the air/until there’s nothing left”… oh my gosh, I’m so choked up here. “across the rainbow” is a phrase that actually helps the moment. But the reality of a vet facing this every single day… holy smokes, your poem reminds us of the “denial or acceptance” that must be part of surviving a role as a vet in the world. My vet is a remarkable man (reminds me entirely of All Creatures Great and Small) and I’ve often wondered how he manages that “denial/acceptance and the daily examination of pet and human faces/eyes. Thank you for such a thought/heart-provoking poem. Susie
Susie, thank you for hosting today and for this engaging prompt. Your line “a conduit of toil heaped in the corner” creates such fabulous imagery.
WARNING:
Your brain might be blown
(thus lending to need our services)
from the insanity of a
a broken heart
crypto
cryonic
crazy
mad hatter type
who brain-naps
what is left
of your personality
DNA
memories
f l o a t i n g
for eternity
in formaldehyde
liquid nitrogen
molecular mucus
a science caper
for modern times
post-mortem, apocalyptic
Check here ___ for acknowledgment
——————-
Entertained and sparked by this: https://www.thedailybeast.com/russian-cryonics-couple-danila-medvedev-and-valerija-udalovas-bad-breakup-led-to-heist-of-frozen-brains
Stefani, thanks for sharing the link. Your poem grips me from the opening to the end. Loved the way your kept floating on its own and the end Check here part was brilliant. “for eternity/in formaldehyde/liquid nitrogen/molecular mucus”. Wow! Powerful poem!
Stefani,
This poem is so clever. I’m having an “I wish I’d written that” moment. Short lines and crisp sounds add to the poem’s effect. The word-play is so good:
“crypto
cryonic
crazy
mad hatter type
who brain-naps”
I’m having a brain flashback to Frankenstein. Love it.
WHOA – what a whack-a-doodle world we have here. This is a beyond-the-pale crazy-pants bit of news! Truth is stranger than fiction to be sure. I love your poem…the “brain-nap[per] insanity of this “science caper.” This gets “checked” in my holy-mackerel-crazy category! LOL! Witty and fun poem! Thank you! Susie
Good Morning, Susie. Can’t help finding myself singing Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire as began reading the news and your prompt. Perhaps we should be doing more of this with our students and fellow writes. My favorite lines? he waits, like a shadow /swallowed in the onset of night, / for her to linger in the open doorway / just a moment too long / — a moonflower heeding / a siren’s song to lay open her petals….
Just beautiful. Stunning. I opened the local paper and pulled lines/words from an article on ‘ghost guns’ and ‘legislation’ in reference to Sandy Hook / Newtown
22 Years and Counting
~b.r.crandall
I was a month from student teaching,
still learning to dust chalkboards with
language, history, and hope.He brought
a school project to Paducah, but he didn’t know
exactly why.Maybe looking for love? Revenge?
Just him, a shotgun, and a pistol
after his sister drove the two of them
into another day.
There is still more work to do.
I was in my 2nd year when we became
a history needing to be taught to future
generations…one of homemade bombs
and militia-mind maneuvers
game-played at a Colorado high school.
Our principal noted at the time,
“Schools will never be the same.”
But what about the rights of the
domestically violent and extreme,
those that wear blue suits, camouflage,
& sunglasses, who go rogue
in a hunt across state borders?
They have rights, too.
AK-47s, high capacity magazines.
Universal background checks
Legislation is the weapon that assault them.
Ghost guns gone rogue.
Murderers. Radio barkers.
There’s no need to write names.
They are not worth a poem.
I skipped school in, 2012 –
2nd year at the University…
needed a mental break…
went to see The Hobbit
(a bad habit of being a geek)
28 miles south of Sandy Hook.
Text messages. Phone calls
20 sprites sitting on ABC carpets
learning to read and write.
8 souls believing in them.
I run for Vicki Soto.
Still more work to do..
They are seniors now…
kids welcomed as freshmen
to a high school in Parkland…
planted in a field of Floridian possibilities.
They arrived with the potential
of blazing stars, sunflowers,
(shadows of Columbine),
jessamine, and honeysuckle,
who only wanted to bloom
before fire opened the “good morning,’
to what they’d know of adolescence.
Covid followed. Watering the best years
of their lives while their governor berated
them for wanting a chance.
Yes, more work needs to be done.
This, the education we’re giving them.
Your poem bring me to such feels and my anger rises reading this… I dreaded that special day of PD when we did active shooting drills. My blood pressure rose and I questioned legislators and their priorities. Just kids, they are just kids…
So this line is the one that makes me angriest: They have rights, too. AK-47s, high capacity magazines. Really?
What is wrong with this country?? How did we get here? How can we make the changes we need to right this wrong? Thank you for the space to vent…
Wow, there is a lot of unpacking starting and going on in this poem, I didn’t want it to end. Your repetition of “more work needs to be done” is powerful and pulls in the educator in us all. Thank you for sharing this with us today.
There’s a lot here, Bryan, but the Sandy Hook stanza hits home. I remember that day in particular because I had my Journalism class for a long teaching block and we were watching the live news feed as it developed. I was checking in on friends who had children in the district as the nightmare unfolded.
More work needs to be done.
Bryan,
Your poem IS a history lesson, a heartbreaking walk through the detritus of school shootings and the gun lobby’s insistence on the so-called 2Aers:
But what about the rights of the
domestically violent and extreme,
those that wear blue suits, camouflage,
& sunglasses, who go rogue
in a hunt across state borders?
They have rights, too.
I’m sure you saw today’s headlines in Brooklyn. I can’t help but wonder if this mass murder is in response to yesterday’s announcements about ghost-guns. I’m not sure this country would know how to act w/out the fix of putting kids through mass shooter drills; certainly a large portion of the country cares more about the pain of wearing a mask than about the blood of children spread across desks. Isn’t Yes, more work needs to be done just another cliche by now? All this is to say, I agree, we need more poetry writing opportunities like this one Susie’s has provided. We need more poems like the one you’ve written.
OOOOOoof! You nailed this one, BRC, with a big hammer, and it is a poem chocked full of the ironies of what students have and are facing in light of that horrors that schools have turned out to teach them…”the education we’re giving them.” One godawful slaughter after the next in the “safe” place of school and yet “their governor” chose to belittle his own state’s students for “wanting a chance.” The “shadows of Columbine”… the word “shadows” …perfect, as they streak across the floors of every school in the country with “lock down drills” and “active shooters” wielding the weapons that blind ignorance has put in the hands of the frustrated and angry. We have so much “work to do.” To be sure. A must-read poem! Thank you so much. Susie
Darn it! I wish this platform would let me edit my doggone typos. Sorry. (light of THE horrors)… Susie
Heartbreaking, Bryan. The morsel, “They arrived with the potential of blazing stars, sunflowers, (shadows of Columbine)” triggered a memory of the subject I chose for today, the Challenger‘s last flight.
Wow Susie, you really captured such an image with this line: ‘he waits, like a shadow
swallowed in the onset of night, for her to linger in the open doorway just a moment too long.” I am often left wondering about where this silent and invisible virus is lingering and will it strike me? I have been one of the fortunate ones and think when will it be my turn. You really brought my fears to light.
I chose a lighter story today – an escape? Yes indeed!
Foul Fowl
No harm, no foul,
and no charges for this fowl
That bi-line caught my eye
I had to find the answers
was compelled
to find out more
What type of fowl?
What kind of foul?
And why no charges filed?
I found a bit of oddity
Seems within the span of a week
in two separate but nearby towns
some turkeys gained
illegal entrance
and made themselves at home
The first one landed in an attic
What could he find up there?
A trunk of by-gone memories
Some Christmas baubles too
Or perhaps an old costume?
To ease its get away?
The second one walked around a bit
not knowing how it got in
The resident shared a video
Lamenting
Who ya gonna call?
For this strange case
I do not think
Ghostbusters are the ones
Both cases sound so silly
a welcome treat
from today’s dismal news
But I am certain
these two homeowners
aren’t laughing with the mess!
Christine, your play on words and humor are lovely for this topic and prompt. I enjoyed the twist at the end with their perspective too. Thank you for sharing.
Christine, love this lighter fare today. I love your humor with “Who ya gonna call?” and what the turkey would use for its getaway. Priceless!
Christine — What a fun toss of fowl shenanigans! I totally enjoyed the visual images of turkeys run amok. HA! Your poem is paced with a fun sort of tempo that is a bit reminiscent of these goofy birds. The one in the attic was particularly fun, up there poking around with the “christmas baubles.” LOL! Fun! Thank you. Susie
Quirky poem update:
For those who asked about the couple in my quirky poem, I posted the rest of the story on my blog today after reaching out to and hearing from my former student: http://evolvingenglishteacher.blogspot.com
Susie,
You know I’m a news junky, so I feel as though this prompt is made for me. Your dragon metaphor is perfect. It echos the dragon in Beowulf. Shadows, fog, untouchable, fear, laying wait: all these images conjure psychological doom. Now we once again see rising covid numbers and a new mask mandate coming to Philly. Your timing is impeccable.
And While…
We live in parallel
universes of epic poetry.
And while some cry
crocodile tears
over mask mandates,
their freedumbs &
global inflation after
decades of flat prices,
a Ukrainian farmer
hooks his tractor
to a Russian tank to
resist autocracy as
he pulls the tank
toward freedom.
And while some
scream profanities at
teachers who lift the
voices of POC to tell
the totality of history,
Ukrainian mothers &
grandmothers make
molotov cocktails to
defend their homes from
Russian invaders who
destroy their cities &
murder their children.
And while a Ukrainian
father sobs over the
bloody body of his
sixteen year old son &
refugees flock to neighboring
borders or seek safety in
an old theater later
bombed by Russian
war criminals,
some here genuflect
over Oragey’s monosyllabic
nonsense & Tuckum’s
insurrection propaganda.
While western leaders wait,
President Zalinsky fights
just as in Homer’s epic.
The muse sings to tell
the tale of the lost hero
Odysseus who sailed
the seas ten long years
while Telemachus hoed
the fields and laid to waste
Penelope’s suiters.
One day poets will
sing of parallel universes—
two forces—one for an
authoritarian regime
the other for democracy.
—Glenda Funk
April 12, 2022
Glenda, seriously, how do you pull these poems out so quickly? Your metaphors, word choice, and cyclical connections are enjoyable and thought-provoking. Freedumbs–this is amazing. Thank you for sharing today.
PS-I see the NCTE proposal was accepted…did you email them your poem;)?
Glenda, first of all thank you so much for sharing your blog. Your former’s students words about your teaching brought tears to my eyes. What an amazing compliment. I also love your poem, your allusions, and stark details of the horrific war happening in Ukraine. Had to laugh at “Tuckum’s/ insurrection propaganda”. He is such a schmuck! I am so afraid we are going to lose our democracy, and I appreciate the comparison you highlight between two worlds. Outstanding, powerful poem!
Thanks, Glenda, for your unblinking look at the menace & willful cruelty around us, among us. Your juxtaposition & political lens reminded me of Kaminsky immediately.
Holy smokes, Glenda — HERE is the power voice of understanding, the voice of ferocious parallels…THIS poem is a must-read for all of us. To think that we piddle away with our me-me-me world while the very life blood is being sucked out of Ukraine as innocent people are brutally slaughtered…well, we need to pull up our big-girl pants and lend a helping hand and focus on what is so much bigger than our own little fusses. And you are not wrong to turn to Odysseus and Telemachus. Dang, girl, you are so spot-on! And of course, you knew I loved
“some here genuflect
over Oragey’s monosyllabic
nonsense & Tuckum’s
insurrection propaganda”
— I’m stunned that their grunts continue to prod those who aren’t opening the windows of reality and fact. Thank you for an important and mighty poem, my friend. I so appreciate the deep intelligence of your poem. Hugs, Susie
Standing and ?????? Standing and ??????!!!
No one could have written it any better! Perfect! I was drawn in immediately.
I honestly want to copy and paste it all here because every word hits me!
You are one heck of a poet!
Glenda, I, too, thought this was a perfect prompt for you! And you really met the moment. I am in awe of how you weave together what is happening currently in Ukraine and America, weaving the extremes, the pain, the ridiculousness, the everything. There are so many painful contradictions in our world; it is terrifying.
Glenda,
This is so good. You are so good.
It’s so powerful to see these events in juxtaposition.
What a world we are living in.
Glenda, you’re an epic poet. Period. Spot on analogies, metaphors, allusions, and a conclusion absolutely nailed. Of all the images here that strike me deeply, Zelenskyy fighting and muses singing of the lost hero strikes deepest.
Glenda, I concur with everyone else: this is amazing! (And I especially love the Homer connection that you’ve crafted.) Thank you!
Susie – So powerful. The bare bone strike at the heart of the matter. Thank you.
I am becoming overwhelmed by the news lately. I tried to concentrate on the small, good news.
Good News
It’s the small things –
Orange glow of sunrise,
First sip of coffee,
Children’s laughter.
It’s the small things –
Jonquils and Hyacinths,
Ripening tomatoes on the vine,
A blue-sky spring day.
It’s the small things –
Salty smell of the Atlantic,
Steady rush of crashing waves,
The pink surprise of a wind-worn shell.
It’s the small things –
Crisp clean cotton sheets,
A good book, warm feet,
A long and strong embrace.
Small things – those oh so small things
Carry with them the most joy.
Word Dancer—this is what I needed this morning—I have turned on the news and…so much bad. “Small things – those oh so small things/Carry with them the most joy”. I think I will go look for some of those small things now. Thank you.
Thank you for the respite from the news. My favorite: “Crisp clean cotton sheets” ahh!
This is beautiful! I’ll be keeping my eyes open and collecting small things today to keep in my pocket.
Word Dancer, these small things are what I cling to. Thanks for so beautifully and simply showing that it’s these things that give life, peace, and joy. I just want to spend today breathing and soaking in all the small blessings.
Word D – Your poem is crucial here today. Amidst the ready raft of crapola news, we need your “small things” and the repetition of that line to remind us that we need only blink our eyes and those “small things” are, indeed, at the ready and all around us. Whew! Thank heavens. As I reread your poem, I can’t quite decide which small thing I like the most…I love the “orange glow of sunrise” for sure… and “clean sheets” when I return home from having been away for 2 weeks. Maybe the sweetest little surprise is that “pink surprise of a wind-worn shell.” As I’m here at home now, flopped across the couch with The Lincoln Highway at my right, and my laptop on my lap, feet draped with a homemade afghan, I’m warm and incredibly happy. Were you peeking in the window? 🙂 Susie
Thank you. We all definitely need to consider the small joy’s hidden among the daily news.
And it’s the big things and big people like you and your poem. I love it! I needed it! Sort of reminded me of a poem I wrote about love earlier in the month.
?
Thank you!
Susie—your poem caught all the feels of this pandemic. (And now we are perhaps facing the dragon beginning to uncoil yet again…). You give us so many images—the lost flicker of light, the moon flower, the one eye tracking. All of it. A gift, my friend…
I scrolled through today’s news this morning, but failed to find inspiration. Then I remembered a project I had done years ago, using primary sources. We researched the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire tragedy and my class did found poems from one of the articles we read. I went back to find the article. The link is below. His words tell the story…
https://trianglefire.ilr.cornell.edu/primary/testimonials/ootss_WilliamShepherd.html
“Eyewitness at the Triangle
By William Shepherd
The nation learned of the horrible fire at the Triangle Shirtwaist Company through the eyewitness account of a United Press reporter who happened to be in Washington Square on March 25, 1911. He phoned in details while watching the tragedy unfold. At the other end of the telephone, young Roy Howard telegraphed Shepherd’s story to the nation’s newspapers. This document first published in the Milwaukee Journal, March 27, 1911.”
I looked up to see whether those above
watched those who fell.
they did;
they watched them
every inch of the way down
a love affair in the midst of all the horror.
A young man helped a girl to the window sill
held her out, deliberately away from the building
let her drop…cool and calculating.
a second girl the same way…let her drop.
…a third girl who did not resist.
…as if he were helping them onto a streetcar
instead of into eternity.
a terrible death awaited them in the flames…
only a terrible chivalry.
Then
came the love amid the flames.
He brought another girl to the window.
…saw her put her arms about him
and kiss him…
he held her out into space
and dropped her.
quick as a flash he was on the window sill himself.
His coat fluttered upward-
the air filled his trouser legs.
he wore tan shoes and hose.
His hat
remained on his head.
I saw his face before they covered it.
You could see in it that he was a real man.
He had done his best.
“I looked upon the heap of dead bodies and I remembered these girls were the shirtwaist makers. I remembered their great strike of last year in which these same girls had demanded more sanitary conditions and more safety precautions in the shops. These dead bodies were the answer.”
GJSands, 4/12/2022
Excerpted from Eyewitness at the Triangle
By William Shepherd
Oof, Gayle — I too did a bunch of work around the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire years ago in my classroom and in National History Day projects with my students. The horrific images you shared with us from Shepherd’s account is just haunting and horrific. Our forebears in industry were wickedly awful… these poor girls …all those working in that building… my god how painfully horrible. The graphic images of the bodies with their clothes answering the gust of the air in the drop…geez. This is an important piece, Gayle, and I’m so glad you shared it. Sweat shops… holy cow, what a horrific world we had before there were standards and restrictions to what greedy shops owners could do to workers. Even a fraction of research into that event will stun you as to what life was like in the last century right under our blind noses. It gives me pause about some of our other “less observed” industries in states that keep rolling back the standards. Thank you so much for sharing. Susie
Oh my heart, my soul aches. I don’t understand how our world can be filled with so much torture and wrong-doing. Why can’t people JUST LIVE AND THRIVE!
?
Gayle,
Thank you for digging back into your past week and sharing the primary source and your resulting poem. I, too have done some work with this topic in class. I invented word “thud-dead” will haunt me forever.
I know. I couldn’t even use it today. That was the phrase the students remember—after 10 years!
Gayle – first: The way you’ve organized and relayed all this is magnificent. For a brief moment you’ve placed us at the scene, witnessing the horror, the in-the-moment details. One brief moment being in Shepherd’s shoes as the gruesomeness unfolded is even too great to bear…That the girls had been striking for better conditions (which surely didn’t include locked doors to keep them from taking breaks or from stealing, supposedly, which is a big reason why there was no escape from the fire) points to an age-old question, a huge blot on human history (i.e., our history of inhumanity): Why is it that tragedy of epic proportions has to occur before needed reform begins?
Susie, thank you for this prompt and for your brilliant poem! Having a wife who is immunocompromised, I am hyper conscious about “all things COVID,” so I found your extended metaphor so apt: Long COVID is a coiled (waiting) dragon. “What you don’t know can’t hurt you,” they say. [slowing raising hand] Uhm, but it actually can, can’t it? I mean, it can, like, hurt you a great deal.
Thank you for sharing Susie. Your poem made me reflect on the havoc that covid brought as it rocked the entire world.
COVID
Covid you were the pain in my side
You took away so many lives
It was a mystery!
I could not see your venom but covid you were poisonous
Covid forced us to stay locked away in our homes.
We had to adhere to lock down, curfews, and social distancing
Mandatory face mask and frequent hand washing
Oh covid even changed our cultural practices
Covid took away our freedom.
Freedom to decide to vax or not to vax
We were forced to inject something in our bodies we knew little about
Human rights were violated.
Today people now roam the streets.
Free to make their decision.
Parties, trips, social gatherings.
We are back to some sense of normalcy
But I know covid is still here!
Dee, indeed it is still here – I agree with you. I don’t think it’s going anywhere anytime soon – just morphing and evolving as we wait and see about the next surge. Your poem speaks truth about changing lives, and about taking them.
Dee, it is all such a mystery and yes, I think it’s here to stay. We are changed forever.
Dee — Yes, covid did and still does wreak havoc with our lives. You capture the upheaval. You really nailed it with “took away so many lives” and the reality of the final line. Those lives lost…heaven help us…what can possible fill those holes? It is painful for sure. Susie
Dee, yes you got it right! It is still here. A teacher at my school is vaxxed and boosted and got it a week before spring break. I don’t think I’ll ever feel free or normal again.
Thank you for your honest poem. I’m with you!
Susie, what a gorgeous, true, and imagistic poem. Thank you for the inspiration this morning. Can’t wait to play with this prompt today. 🙂
Thank you, Wendy! 🙂 Susie
Susie, I love everything about this prompt. What a great way for Social Studies teachers to bring creative writing and poetry into their classrooms! Your poem’s final lines are haunting – against the technicolor of everything she cannot bring herself to touch……it makes me catch my breath just reading it, the imagery of all that is not technicolor that is also felt in such a real way. Thank you for hosting us today and investing in us as writers.
Macon Music Again
Capricorn Studios
Macon, Georgia
birthplace of
Southern Rock~
southern soul
and Rock and Roll~
50 years ago
when Otis Redding
and Phil Walden
booked frat party gigs
at Mercer University~
Allman Brothers Band
Marshall Tucker Band
Lynyrd Skynyrd~
But the music stopped
historic tax credits
private gifts and grants
resurrected the bankrupt
studio in disrepair
a drumbeat ~a heartbeat~
pum PUM, pum PUM, pum PUM
brought life back
to this timeless studio treasure
‘Macon Music’ again
ghosts of the heyday
haunt halls
roam Recording booths
musical magic
to inspire generations
of rising stars
I found an article in April 2002 Georgia Magazine, but a similar link is here: https://capricorn.mercer.edu/history/
and I also read more about the biblicalhistorycenter.com in LaGrange as well, which would have been a great place to have visited this week as we approach Easter Sunday. Now I have two new places for day trips :). Thank you again, Susie!
Kim, love your poem and how you show the heyday, how it ended, and now its revival. Sounds like a marvelous place. Loved “ghosts of the heyday/haunt halls/roam Recording booths.” Plus, I love Southern Country Rock. I feel a longer trip being planned for my future! Thank you for sharing such a wonderful newsworthy event and the link!
Kim — You grabbed at the title! Perfect! And such an iconic studio…the famed names (love ’em all)… and Mercer (where my grand-nephew attended the McDuffy Center for Strings and then Julliard and now Curtis Institute in Philly–I’m so proud)…anyway, I digress. That you captured the renewal of someplace iconic through “ghosts” and “haunted halls” is just right. Your poem made me think of John Prine’s studio in Nashville… after he died of Covid in 2020, I was broken all over again by the fact that his studio shuttered as well. Dang… I hope your poem is an omen of rebirth that could happen there in Nashville. Love the focus on music…as always! Hugs, Susie
I could hear snatches of a dozen old songs as I read, Kim – and then that drumbeat/heartbeat, so fun, bringing life back to the studio. This is poem that imparts hope as well as a delicious sense of magic waiting to happen, while ghosts of the heyday roam…reminds me that I have been wanting to write some ghost stories. 🙂
Oh, the rocking and pacing, do we go forward or retreat–that has been the collective indecision these past two years, Susie. The embodiment of COVID as a dragon is apropo–will it just toast us, or burn the whole place down? We had our first family COVID case this past month, so I’m in the “we’re not done with this” camp at the moment, even if the news headlines can’t agree…
Dueling headlines
The “AP Morning Wire” arrives at 0601 sharp
Neat columns of
Headlines and openers to the left
Photos to the right
Third story down
“China closes Guangzhou
to most arrivals
as outbreak spreads”
the words
“major surge”
jump out at me
Sixth story down
“With COVID mission over,
Pentagon plans
for next pandemic”
the article describes
exhausted nurses
overflowing ICUs
as memories
as if COVID is a thing
of the past
as if the story
three sections up
or my own
child’s recovery
doesn’t exist
right now.
Your poem reminds me of the stresses of news and the wondering, how is THAT news when my own world is rocking feverishly today, the way you ask at the end about your own child’s recovery. Several months ago, we stopped watching news for a time, because we felt our blood pressure rising and our stress loads increasing. I’m so glad you wrote this today, because it captures everything I feel about news……it’s so much to bear.
Hi cmargocs,
Your poem reminded me of all the panic and fear covid cast upon us. I recalled how there was not even enough rooms in the hospital to treat covid patients.
Cmarcogs — Holy moses, this is a slam-dunk of a poem. The upside-down-ness of how Covid continues to confound us is one thing…but the slam-dunk comes in the last stanza…your kid still trying to recover. “As if…[it] doesn’t exist/right now.” It make me want to scream. Oh my gosh… I go nuts when I see non-medical/political/military people dictating that Covid is “over” while we watch it rage in China and other unprotected places on the globe, as if “those other people” didn’t count, didn’t matter…not to mention our own loved ones who are just collateral damage. Infuriating. Superb poem, important poem! Thank you and sending my best to your kiddo. Susie
Yes, that last line rocks me too – funny how so many have forgotten that WE ARE STILL IN THIS! sorry for the all caps!
“Dueling headlines,” indeed. It will be a looong time before COVID is a thing of the past…your ending lines are so powerful, Chris. It’s almost as if the stories cancel each other out – and all of them take a backseat to a child’s recovery. Healing prayers-
The rollers
rocked the building,
tiny earthquakes
every day at dusk pm,
with the news settling
into record as black ink
on borrowed paper,
the words we wrote
now plugged into place,
and still, we’d smudge
our tired fingers
each following morning,
if only to see our names,
bolded, bound in story space
(note: before becoming a teacher, I spent a decade as a newspaper reporter and remember the building shaking as the printing press hummed to life)
— Kevin
Utterly fascinating, Kevin. I was at school a few years ago when an earthquake occurred. I thought the custodian was rolling heavy furniture down the hall.
I’m glad you explained the premise, Kevin…I thought it was about reporting on an earthquake, not thinking how machines can shake a building! I like the lines “the words we wrote/ now plugged into place”, that finality of publishing.
As I began reading, I thought you had a Rollergirls team practicing upstairs or something. We have the Atlanta Rollergirls here in Georgia, and they have their own derby building, but I had to go back and reread with different eyes once I realized they were printing presses. Funny how the perception can change with one little assumption off-kilter. That must have been a memorable event to witness, watching printing presses come to life. Like talkers awakening from a nap, getting their next words ready.
Hi Kevin, your poem made me recall when I was in Los Angeles and experienced my first earthquake. It was scare the entire apartment building was swaying from side to side.
So rad. I am loving the blank ink and tired finger smudges. Your poem even brings the smell of newspaper to my nose! Thank you for sharing.
Ooo, Kevin — This is meticulously vivid.. I LOVED “the news settling/into record.” And thinking of you as a reporter is with those smudged fingers and seeing your name in print… I love that…the honesty of that. And the phrasing “bound in story space.” Why am I not surprised you spent a decade as a newspaper reporter—- those keen observations… well, of course! You continue to be the early voice of my mornings, and I’m grateful for that. Susie
Well that explains your brilliant writing…you spent a decade as a reporter! Wow, so fascinating. In the first 3 lines I thought it may have been about war then my heart softened at the beauty of your life as a reporter.
Kevin, this is a magnificent picture of… a time gone by, right? Modern technology has removed much of this sensory aspect of newspaper-making.
Susie, I am in love with this prompt! It serves my poetry month project perfectly! The mentor poem and your poem are wonderful illustrations of how to flesh out the news with more news–that emotional news that’s important. The feeling of being a prisoner in your poem is poignant. I hope to try to achieve a similar type of emotional portrait in my poems. Thank you for this! I am preparing for a long drive. So, I will not be back on my computer today. But, I”m so glad I checked in for this!
Oh, Susie – the psychological effects of COVID/unmasking as an analogy to a dragon lying coiled is incredible. Chilling. Your imagery and phrasing throughout are so magnificently crafted – “mired in the monochrome of isolation…paralyzing her in place” – this is what fear does. And the colorplay here – I am reminded of the scene in The Wizard of Oz when Dorothy opens the door to find a Technicolor world, so different from her drab existence (so she thinks). Of course she has to touch the door and open it… just so many connections here for me. Thank you for this stunning offering and unique invitation today-
Fallen Officer
He died
in the line of duty
tracking an armed robber
who opened fire
the funeral home
got a call
asking if
they can
“do this sort of thing”
they say they can
surely a service
with full honors
for our fallen hero
named Major
age 3
German Shepherd
K-9 Officer
God forgive
us all
Wow. Your poem, from news, packs an emotional punch.
Kevin
This is exactly why I avoid animal stories, Fran. The sadness of losing one just hits me harder than if the villain “gets it” in the end.
I’m not crying. You’re crying. As if this is what I needed on some random Tuesday morning at 7 AM, being teary eyed before the start of class. Uh, no, kids, I must have something in my eyes this morning. [I do. It’s this wonderful poem. Thank you, Fran!]
Who shoots a dog??? Nope, I am going to have to crawl back in bed today. I can’t face the world. Fran, Fran, Fran. A three year old German Shepherd, a K-9, more devoted and dependable about his work than the average person of these days – it rips my heart out. Yes, this dog deserves full honors. We don’t deserve the forgiveness and mercy that is ours, do we? Shooting a dog…..now that’s just pure criminal hatred.
Hi Fran, I am sorry for your lost. death is never easy and some dogs serves as our heroes.
I can’t even… God forgive us all is right. Let me go find a tissue now.
“do this sort of thing” – that line slaps me right into the heart of your poem. The emotion is dripping with each line in your poem. Thank you for sharing!
Oh daaaang, Fran — What a gut punch. The title is perfect…an “officer” indeed…this magnificent creatures are stunning in their totally selfless work…losing one “in the line of duty” is just heartbreaking. Your truncated lines fit the loss of the “officer” and whacks us just as did the “open fire.” Dang. Powerful image and sad…doggone sad poem. So well done. Thank you for reminding us of the magnificence of these soldiers. I just got home at midnight last night from almost 2 weeks with my nieces labs (and my niece :-)) and thinking of losing one of them suddenly is a horrible thought. Your poem is powerful. Hugs, Susie (Now, I need to go read the funny papers and sop up my weepy face.)
Fran,
This is the world in which we all live…on edge, sad, heartbroken, lost, fearful and enraged!
Tragic.?