Welcome to Day 1 of the June Open Write. If you have written with us before, welcome back. If you are joining us for the first time, you are in the kind, capable hands of today’s host, so just read prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write that, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.

Our Host

Sarah J. Donovan

Sarah Donovan lives in Stillwater, Oklahoma.  Sarah has been an educator for 24 years, most recently teaching future teachers at Oklahoma State. Her first novel in verse is Alone Together, and she has edited poetry collections: Teacher Poets Writing to Bridge the Distance and Rhyme & Rhythm: Poems for Student Athletes. Sarah also researches writing pedagogy and has published in various education journal and books about the transformative power of writing in community.

Inspiration 

W.H. Auden once wrote: “Poets who want to change the world tend to be unreadable.” In a conversation between Pearl London and June Jordan, Jordan had something to say about that quote. She called that “elitist” and said that “you have to be accessible to people on the first reading or first hearing on some level…and when they reread it something else can happen again.”

There was a fundamental shift in poetry in the US around the 60s with writing in the black arts communities. And then anti-Vietnam War movement — all kinds of poets who never wrote anything political were writing war poems to be read at rallies by thousands of people. And, yes, the women’s movement. Poetry had to be accessible to engage an audience.

If you go for a walk or drive today, I invite you to listen to June Jordan reading her poetry. The first poem she reads here is “These Poems,” which serves as our inspiration today:

“These Poems” by June Jordan

These poems
they are things that I do
in the dark
reaching for you
whoever you are
and
are you ready?

(read the rest of the poem here)

Process

Jordan’s poem is free verse with a few words on each line. So short. There are three stanzas that begin with “These” — poems, words, skeletal lines. Each word is a synonyms of sorts and yet holds different meaning. Then the final two stanzas show the purpose, the relationality between the poet and the reader with some intimacy and anonymity. Wow.

I imagine some of us write to move an audience. Others are writing to move ourselves. For me, it is somewhere in between. Knowing I have an audience, is what makes me write. That my words will land somewhere. That my poem will have a witness.

What are “these” poems you write? Where do you write them? What metaphor works for what you poems are (for Jordan, “they are stones in the water/running away: and “desperate arms)?

Another approach is to think of what are “these” poems you read. What do “these” poems do for your heart and mind? Maybe you have a favorite poet and want to gather the accessible lines that you carry with you.

Sarah’s Poem

These poems
they are things that I do
in the corner
stroking f & j
begging a seed
becomes something
to remind me
to live.

These fingers–
swelling at night,
aching in knuckles–
feel no pain
tapping letters
into a poem.

These ticks
they are hollow beats
of my heart wishing
to be heard.

I am alive
practicing living
with every letter.

Your Turn

Now, scroll to the comment section below to write your own poem. (This is a public space, so you may choose to use only your first name or initials depending on your privacy preferences.) Not ready? That’s okay. Read the poems already posted for more inspiration. Ponder your own throughout the day. Return later. And, if the prompt does not work for you, that is fine. All writing is welcome. Just write something. Also, please be sure to respond to at least three writers. Oh, and a note about drafting: Since we are writing in short bursts, we all understand (and even welcome) the typos and partial poems that remind us we are human and that writing is always becoming. If you’d like to invite other teachers to write with us, tell them to subscribe.

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Sepli

these hands I open up like books
their lines journey forth
from walks along creeks
where sunlight glints on the shimmering ripples.

these hands I look into
fill my eyes with moisture
coursed through the blood in my veins
surging upwards from a beating heart.

these hands dug in the earth
besides mama who never asked much
just to help pull weeds when her back got sore
showed me how to shake dirt from roots.

these hands are the root lines
the rivulets of trickles and trills
the opening to sky and wind and breeze
songbirds beyond time.

these hands hold the pencil
pressed on cotton bond
type the manual Olivetti
into poems mama and the earth hear.

sepli august 2024

Jessica Wiley

Sarah,
Thank you so much for opening up this month’s Open Write. I’m honored to not only host Open Writes, but feel like a part of a huge community of belonging. It is a space to reside- either momentarily or at will. I’m a little late, but right on time. Thank you for this prompt. Your third stanza speaks to me:
“These ticks
they are hollow beats
of my heart wishing
to be heard.”

Sometimes I just want to be heard from my heart, which is why I stopped being silent. I fee like no one understands me at times. Here is my poem for today. Thank you again for sharing.

These poems 

They are emotions I can’t bear to speak
so I write them.

These poems
are my hopes and dreams deferred
writing to fruition as past pains produce pungent products.

These poems 
are from a heart that hides behind love,
but where anger, confusion, and fear masquerade.

These poems
make me breathless,
exhausting all the pieces of my mind.

These poems
tell a story that no one can tell better than me with
periods, commas, question marks, and dashes.

These poems
are a piece of me.

Allison Berryhill

Hi Jessica, I am often a late contributor, so I’m happy to respond to my kindreds. I loved the idea of “love” hiding anger, confusion, and fear. I sometimes think I hide all of my negative emotions (sadness, embarrassment, regret…) behind the mask of anger. You’ve got me thinking now…about a poem I might need to write. <3

Wendy Everard

Jessica, loved this! ❤️❤️

Wendy Everard

So late with this! The website won’t send me alerts that it’s Open Write time anymore, and I’m in Ohio grading in AP exams and only today remembered that we might be staring to write again! 🙂
Here’s my contribution for…yesterday!

These poems.
They are who
I always thought I 
could be:

A hopeful girl,
Her future bright.

These poems.
They are who I was becoming:

Breezy barfly,
Writing on cocktail napkins,
Whiling away nights,
Looking for tomorrow.

These poems.
The culmination of a life,
A collection of words on a screen, 

Ephemeral:
Who will be there to read them
When I’m gone?

Jessica Wiley

Hi Wendy, I was late too, but I’m so glad you are here. Your poem reminds me of a life lesson learning. “These poems.
They are who I was becoming:”
not quite evolved but in progress. I’m thankful for spaces like this and paper and people to communicate with, so that everyone will be able to read our poetry. Thank you for sharing.

Allison Berryhill

Wendy, I am glad I came back to Saturday’s prompt and found your poem! The hopeful girl…the breezy barfly…you are the whole package!
I returned to your opening “they are who I always thought I could be…” Beautiful line. I embrace you, the poet.

Donnetta D Norris

These Prayers ~ Donnetta Norris

These prayers
they are things I do
anytime
asking for God
to be where you are
and
can you feel them?

These tongues
they are war cries of the spirit
fighting for your life.

These praises
they are desperate songs to the Holy One.

I am a loved one
learning to beseech the Father
who loves me

to be where you are
to draw you into Him.

Jessica Wiley

Donnetta, where I want to be is with Him. The lines of your stanzas build upon one another: “These prayers”, “These tongues”, and “These praises”. These are the things that we need in order to speak to, honor, and glorify our Father. Thank you so much for sharing.

Mo Daley

War cries of the spirit and desperate songs to the Holy One are so powerful, Donnetta. Those lines really show your need for your prayers to be heard.

Glenda Funk

Sarah,
Thanks so much for continuing to provide this gathering space for sharing poems, for the amazing June Jordan poem, and for your own verse that speaks so eloquently to this act of writing we all find so necessary. My poem comes from a draft I started back in 2020 and stumbled across a few days ago, so I decided to work w/ it today, although it doesn’t quite adhere to the prompt.

Hidden Poems  on Paper 

This poem holds a secret 
in a blue-lined blizzard storm 
where letters fall & scatter 
and morf into some form. 

Here I transcribe my thoughts 
from verses in my mind
and on this back-lit screen 
this world in poems design. 

Each day I must write 
and pen thoughts I’ve concealed:
these hidden poems on paper
I’m longing to reveal. 

Glenda Funk
6-15-24 

TERRY ELLIOTT

I have responded with my fav annotation tool Hypothes.is:

Leilya Pitre

Glenda, you are quite skillful when it comes to organize letters and “morf into some form.” I just love the sound of “morf” and “form” here with their mirrored sounds and grapheme appearance. I can sense the urge to write and reveal hidden thoughts as well as the desire to find the words to do it.

Barb Edler

Glenda, I love how you open your poem with the secrets a poem holds and that image of “blue-lined blizzard storm” sings of the urgent need to write as you note in both your introduction and your poem. I see you designing your Canva poems in the second stanza. I know what it likes to review past poems, hoping to find something forgotten or needing revision, and I think that can be a weighty kind of process. I feel both the love of writing in this poem and the motivation to keep writing, hoping to find a way to craft the secrets you’d like to reveal. If you consider all you’ve written since January, the word count would be mind-boggling. Powerful and very relatable poem.

Glenda,

Makes me so happy to think of the poems we have written that find their way back to us in a “stumbled across” moment. In the first stanza, I am brought to the images you have posted on the snow in Idaho but this may not be the same kind of storm your reference here. Yes, there is a storm of letters falling and scattering in poetry. Love, love that image.

And then, I am thinking of the June Jordan response to Auden about poems being accessible, and how in Auden’s day he likely couldn’t have imaged us all writing poetry in this way with “back-lit screen and “poems design.”

The thread of secret throughout is what is gripping me to every word, how masterful in your writing to stir suspense subtly in the “concealed” and “these hidden poems on paper” that may or may not make it into a public space for others to read.

Wow,

Sarah

Allison Berryhill

Thank you, Sarah, for this lovely prompt. I leaned into it as my mentor text. The poem (regardless of its result) gave me room to breathe. Thank you.

“These Children” by Allison Berryhill

These babies
they are ballooned into the world
shimmering bubbles 
of joy
essence
fragile
so fragile.

These children
they they are hillocks in the field
bumping their way.

These desperate arms
they cannot contain the complications.

I am a mother
learning to worship the ache
within me.

You are always mine
you may always come home.

Leilya Pitre

These babies are our lives indeed, Allison! As a mother, I connect with each of your lines here, and this one made me pause and remember my girls:
“These desperate arms
they cannot contain the complications.”
Then, you bring to a beautiful closing with your unconditional love:
“You are always mine
you may always come home.”
This is so tender, caring, and selfless. Thank you!

Barb Edler

Allison, your poem resonates with a mother’s love. Your words bring tears to my eyes. I adore your final stanza and love the exquisite metaphors you use to show your children. I could relate to “these desperate arms” and am in awe of “learning to worship the ache/within me.” I am so moved by your poem. Thank you for sharing such a beautiful and powerful poem about a mother’s love for her children.

Allison,

I am thinking of some of the beautiful Facebook posts of your family and your travels over the years to hold your grandchildren. What a joy it has been to witness these moments. And this poem here, these lines and the white spaces show the “hillocks in the field/bumping their way.” I inhaled deeply with the line “learning to worship the ache” and imagining that two things can be true — the yearning to be with and the yearning for their being in all the places they learn to name home.

Sarah

Britt Decker

Beautiful; what a delightful prompt, Sarah. Your word “witness” inspired my poem this evening.. thank you.

These words
carry the
weight of what
I am too proud
to say and
too scared to confess

These spaces
tether me to
reality and hold
space for me and
allow me to hold
space for you

These poems
bear witness
to our love and
to our uncertainty and
to our joy and
to our curiosity.

Allison Berryhill

Britt, I smiled when the last line of your poem rested on “curiosity,” a word I use as motivation/self-definition time and again. I also appreciated the momentum created by the tightened (short) line structure. “Too proud..and too scared” was a vulnerability that pulled me right in.
Thank you.

Glenda Funk

Britt,
I feel the sentiments in your poem on a deeply personal level. There are things Ihide from the world, some out of pride, other out of fear, still more from past violations of trust that make me very wary of the world.

Susan

Britt,
our pride and dear definitely interfere with so much, but this space allows us to be humble and brave.

Tammi

I’m road tripping with my dad and daughters this week, so getting to this late.

These Poems

These poems are winged words
expelling anxiety & worry,
purging pain

They are whispered prayers & inked tears spilled for lost loved ones ,
forever remembered, forever loved

They are rainbows of hope, firecracker celebrations and wishes for brighter days

These poems are past, present & future
Loss & love
They are catharsis & unbinding

Jeania White

Tammi,
You may have been reading my poetry from college. Definitely I connect with the winged words expelling anxiety and worry and tears spilled for loved ones. Beautiful lines!

Susan

Such a plethora of emotions poetry helps with!
”inked tears”…wow.

Britt Decker

whispered prayers and inked tears!!! love your poem so, so much.

Have fun road tripping! 😉

Anna Roseboro

SARAH, what a way to start! Oh well, we’re free to tell the truth. Here’s mine.

Exposed by MENTAL MIRRORS

These poems I read
Sometimes show me what I need
They show me what is on my mind
Why head and heart are in such a bind

These poems I read
They sometimes take me far away
Away from stuff I want to say
Yet articulate what’s on my mind that day

These poems I write
Sometimes give me such a fright
I didn’t know that incident hurt me so
Making me scared I’d blurt and readers would know 

These poems I read and some I write
Often reveal I have a tender side
Or expose an incident I’d prefer to hide

Poetry read and written
Certainly are powerful mirrors or tools
That sometimes make me feel and look a fool.

IMG_0110.png
Tammi

Anna,
I really enjoyed the movement of your poem from one of reader to writer and the impact of both experiences. Poetry as mirror is powerful.

Jeania White

I resonate with ever single line! I enjoyed the whimsical feel of this and felt the punch of the powerful mirror. The rhyme is a nice touch also.

Britt Decker

Sometimes give me such a fright
I didn’t know that incident hurt me so

Amen and amen. It has startled me numerous times to find my visceral reaction toward someone or some incident after reading a poetry prompt and starting to brainstorm. Whew! Love the way you’ve laid out that truth here.

Ashley

These poems
Are things I do
In quiet moments
Alone, but surrounded

They brew deeply
Darkly, yet
Sweetly, a foam
Covering hidden
Meanings

Every letter like
A drop dripping
Into a vast
Bottomless pot

I am an extroverted
Introvert living
Through verse

gayle sands

I really enjoy the coffee metaphor— the second stanza, particularly—the foam hiding meanings…

Anna Roseboro

Ashley, your use of similes, metaphors and sensory images say so well what poetry can be for so many of us!

Tammi

Ashley,
That first stanza is so true. Writing poetry is a solitary act but are certainly not alone in this space. Love the coffee metaphor too!

Jeania White

Ashley,

I love love love the extended coffee metaphors. I can definitely fit the definition of extroverted introvert! The “alone, yet surrounded ” really captures how this community feels.

Fran Haley

Sarah, thank you for this moving return to Open Writes. Your poem stirs an ache in me that I recognize. It is also a salve. I’ve said that we write to know we have lived, and to live more deeply, but the truth is that writing is often a lifeline. It keeps us living, as so poignantly captured in your poem. I so agree with Jordan’s point about being accessible to readers. I think vulnerability is a great part of that – it reminds each of us that we aren’t alone, that we have much more in common than we do in any differences, which is, in itself, comforting. I could say much more about the poetry-writing process but, above all, it’s mysterious and definitely transformative, to poet and to reader. That’s the power of well-crafted language. Now, having said all this (!!), I am not sure how “accessible” or “readable” my poem is today, but I will take my take comfort in the words “first draft”. Thank you again for such inspiration-

These

These poems
come from deep within
the forest
to perch
on my fenceposts
cocking their
iridescent heads
at me
from the fickle and flickering
shadows
of Time.

These cuts
spilled upon the page
are hardly my life’s blood
—no, but welling teardrops
from evergreen veins
(can’t you smell
the pine)

(never mind
the rot
of purely deciduous roots).

These truths
see how they’re crystallized
and preserved
even after their long time
of burning on the altar

a sweet fragrance rising

—well, yes, sacrifice
but more so
overcoming

for they don’t forget me, see.
These poems
they love me back.

Ashley

Your alliteration and imagery wrapped me up in your poem, and your last lines warmed my heart–the idea of our writing loving us back never occurred to me, but it really is a reciprocal relationship.

Susan O

i love how the poems become living birds on a fencepost then the image of cuts spilling on a page. Such a communication between the words and the lifeblood!

Scott M

Fran, your craft throughout is wonderful; “[t]hese poems” with “their / iridescent heads” coming from “deep within / the forest” is beautiful, and I so love your last stanza: “for they don’t forget me, see. / These poems / they love me back.” Yes!

Kim Johnson

The iridescent heads of poems cocking their heads from the shadows of time, perched on the fenceposts- – what a sight! Your tribute to the poems that love you back is sensory – the smell of pine (a favorite of mine), the flash of iridescence, the emotion – – all of your lines bring such rich feeling!

gayle sands

Fran—wow. Which to talk about? I think I’ll mention the last two stanzas— sacrifice/ overcoming. Love this. And our poems do return so much to us. So much truth throughout this!

Tammi

Fran,

Your poem is filled with so many vivid images and beautiful metaphors: poems perched on fenceposts,welling teardrop, truths crystallized and preserved. Just gorgeous!

Jeania White

Thank you Sarah for the introduction to a new poet! This community and these writers feel like friends! Thank you again, for the warm welcome.

Jeania White

These lines
Are the coffee cup.of connection
Though some are very far away,
And probably not drinking coffee.

These words are the friends
That move and move, yet
Never go away.

These phrases are like
Butterflies dancing in the trees
Leaving on the breeze
Resting in the warmth.

Ashley

I felt moved towards coffee as well when I wrote! The “coffee cup of connection” makes me picture al of us sitting on a porch writing in a Walden-esque environment.

gayle sands

Welcome, Jeanie! I really loved the coffee cup of connection— though some are far away and not drinking coffee (sacrilege!). That felt so real to me— I love your voice here.

Anna Roseboro

Jeanie, your second verse p, with its personifying metaphor, speaks so well about the power of poetry.

Tammi

Welcome Jeania!
Coffee and poetry! Definitely how I prefer to write, except when it is 10 at night. Lol!
Love this:” phrases are like/butterflies dancing in the trees”

Leilya Pitre

Hi, Sarah! It is so good to be back. I missed reading and writing with friends and colleagues.
Thank you for inviting me to look closer at June Jordan’s poetry. I love the mentor poem and tried to imitate it somewhat in my poem. Your poem is greatly inspiring today, showing us how much these poems “feed” you and help you keep “tapping the letters” to “be heard” and to stay “alive / practicing living /with every letter.”
 
These Poems

These poems
they are these words
I whisper in the morning
to welcome you
to a new day
hoping
it will be a better one.

These lines are
loaded
       energy
                shots
keeping me afloat
throughout the day.

These words are
much needed
comfort to lull me
into a sleep
after the day’s
dense worries.

I am a wanderer
in search of
new ways to arrange
words into lines,
lines into poems
to gift me a new beginning.

What are these poems,
lines, words for you?

Susan

Leilya,
i love how your poem hits on some of the same things I feel.
I especially appreciate

loaded

       energy

                shots

keeping me afloat

throughout the day.

We are so blessed to have this space to experiment with words and interact with others doing the same.

Leilya,

What an unexpected but very apt metaphor of “loaded energy shots” and the “keeping me afloat” is precisely how it makes me feel, especially on days I write a new poem and look forward to response. And today, I look forward to seeing what each of you craft from this one idea. Looking at what you did makes me so happy.

And then “gift me a new beginning” is a lovely turn toward closing.

Peace,
Sarah

Fran Haley

Leilya, I love how you describe words and poems as necessary energy shots to keep going as well as the comforting lull to a worry-free sleep. I can understand these contrasting ideas – so powerfully crafted!

Susan O

Love how the poems are with you through the day. They are like constant prayer of hope, comfort and energy.

gayle sands

Leila— love this energy shots. Isn’t it great to be back together?

Barb Edler

Leilya, I love how you show the power of poems for you. How they can help make a day better, how they create energy and peace. The idea that poems are a gift to a new beginning resonated for me. I believe your words and lines connect us to the way poems can bring us peace and a deeper understanding of our own struggles. Such a relatable poem! Beautiful!

Glenda Funk

Leilya,
I love the idea of poems as a way to welcome others, and as I continue writing every day for the Stafford Poetry Challenge, I’m doing what you say in these lines:
“I am a wanderer
in search of
new ways to arrange
words into lines,”

Denise Krebs

Leilya, lovely poem. These words together sound so heavy: “dense worries” And I love the “I am a wanderer in search of…” is a wonderful description of poets.

Stacey L. Joy

Yay, so happy to be back and thanks for a perfect prompt to get us started. Sarah, I love how “these ticks…hollow beats…” feels completely relevant to me as a writer.

Your prompt gave me an opportunity to spend more time with my students’ presentation of “We Ain’t Banning at Baldwin.” It’s been a wild ride of emotions and accolades on the internet. If anyone is interested in watching them perform the poem, here’s a link.

That Poem

That poem
was the megaphone
for unheard children 
holding space 
for fire
burning the banning
books 
and banning
blackness 
battle cry 

Their voices
pour fuel
light the wick
of truth 
melt insanity
into wisdom

My words
birthed on paper
delivered
to my young
activists 
courageous 
cries
for collective
action

Our shout 
to live 
to love
to learn
echoes
in freedom’s 
fervor

©Stacey L. Joy, June 15, 2024

We Ain
Leilya Pitre

Stacey, I watched your kids reciting your poem several times. They are on fire with that original poem and their passionate delivery! Thank you for preparing them for this event!
Your today’s poem is truly a megaphone giving voice to your students and to you to articulate your call for action. Love the strong ending:
Our shout 
to live 
to love
to learn
echoes
in freedom’s 
fervor”

Susan

Stacey,
Bravo for helping your students learn advocacy!
I really love these lines:

Their voices

pour fuel

light the wick

of truth 

melt insanity

into wisdom

oh how we need their wisdom!

Stacey,

The work you and your school are doing alongside your community is incredible and a model for other schools to follow for sure. These activists are incredible, and your poem extends their message in another for to continue their advocacy in this space.

These lines

and banning

blackness 

battle cry 

Make me stand and cheer for their criticality. Wow.

Sarah

and grateful for the nod to Tulsa and naming the Tulsa Race Massacre

Stacey L. Joy

Our 4th grade teacher does an in-depth study of Tulsa Race Massacre. They meant every word. Thank you, Sarah.

Anna Roseboro

Ditto! Your used of alliteration, the LABIAL “B” Bursting forth creates power and purpose to your poem! Your words evoke the picture that you posted

Fran Haley

Stacey, your poem is electric, crackling with justice, the voices of unheard children becoming the fuel for “melting insanity into wisdom.” Your imagery is brilliant all the way through; the phrasing falls just right; the ending lines are like a mighty musical reprise. So beautifully, powerfully done – here’s to That Poem and its far-reaching effects!

gayle sands

Their voices
pour fuel
light the wick
of truth 
melt insanity
into wisdom

so much strength here!

gayle sands

And your students!!! Wow!

Denise Krebs

Stacey, oh, your students are on fire. I’m so glad you shared them here for others to see, and me to see again. Those /b/ sounds in that alliterative passage including
banning
blackness 
battle cry”
is so powerful! Yes, indeed, here’s to “freedom’s fervor”

Scott M

Stacey, thank you for both poems — this one (“That Poem”) and that one (“We Ain’t Banning at Baldwin”) — and thank you for sharing your students with us! Their presentation, their voices echoing your words was so good and so vitally important!!  

Sharon Roy

Sarah,

Thanks for prompting, hosting, and sharing.

Love the fragility and hope of this stanza:

These ticks

they are hollow beats

of my heart wishing

to be heard.

So happy to be reconnecting with our community of poets.

These poems

after June Jordan

These poems
they are small birds
fluttering
hiding behind green leaves

These words
they are cold waters
to swim through
breathing slowly and evenly

These thin lines
they form a new map
of shifting borders

I am listening
I am searching
I am moving

gayle sands

I found myself slowing down as I read…slowly and evenly…

Leilya Pitre

Hi, Sharon! Great to “see” you here again! Love your poem’s wise, steady, and comforting nature. It read it like a meditation slowing down and taking in each word as though I am “listening, searching, and moving” along with you.

Sharon,

The “fluttering/hiding behind” is a moving metaphor for me as I can keep my poems hidden in between the Open Writes. And, of course, they are waters. Yes, I am swimming through them with joy today. Lovely.

Sarah

Fran Haley

Sharon, I almost always have to use bird imagery, as the creatures are near and dear to my heart…so from the start, you caught me. I also adore the idea of “these thin lines” forming “a new map of shifting borders” as the senses lead us to seek and comprehend more. So true, and so lovely!

Katrina Morrison

Sarah, this summer I am mining past editions of Poetry put out by the Poetry Foundation. Just this morning, it dawned on me that I am reading but not writing poetry. Along came your prompt. Thank you!

These poems
rattle me awake
at night sometimes
or speak from the 
passenger seat
on the drive to school
or distract me
from the Sunday
morning sermon.

Often they are
so silly,
really such smart alecks
or else they are
so mundane, 
so day of the week.

Nevertheless,
they are loyal
companions.
They have put up
with years of neglect,
yet they never give
up. They are
dogs with a bone.

Juliette

Yes Katrina, poetry gives in all the ways you have addressed. This is perfect;
“They have put up
with years of neglect,
yet they never give
up.”
With each ‘read’ of poetry, there is a different delivery. Thank you

gayle sands

Bad dreams? Children? Neglect??? Ohhhh…dogs!!

Leilya Pitre

Katrina, your poem tells a familiar story as I also find myself neglecting writing sometimes. I like that you find them to be your “loyal companions.” Thank you!

Katrina,

Oh, yes, “loyal companions” is so true, especially with your knowing phrase “years of neglect” and “dogs with a bone.” So apt.

Sarah

Stacey L. Joy

Katrina,

Perfect description of how I feel sometimes about my own poems. Those poems sit in the “do not send” file. I’m glad you shared yours today. It’s definitely one “to send” and not be left alone.

so mundane, 

so day of the week.

Scott M

stepping
stones
across
the crick
this poem
connects
us
and
though these
words
are inexpertly
placed they
can still
bridge
this gap
between
us

_____________________________________________________

Thank you, Sarah, for introducing me to June Jordan and her poetry.  And I love the idea that “poeming” is a way of “practicing living.”

Katrina Morrison

Scott, I love the image your metaphor invokes. How often we fail to place the words that build a bridge between us.

Juliette

Scott, your poem shares what poetry is capable of doing,
“words
are inexpertly
placed”
I feel poetry allows writers to achieve. It’s all in the interpretation.

Leilya Pitre

Hi, Scott! Your poem’s role as a bridge that “connects us” is truly amazing. I believe this is exactly what poems do, at least in this space.

Marilyn Miner

A lovely way to speak truth.

Susan

So grateful for the bridge between where you are and I am.

Scott,

Thank you for this metaphor as a bridge. I love this thinking of how poems connect like “stepping stones.” I am imagining this literally as I hope from poem to poem connecting us all in this digital space.

Peace,
Sarah

Stacey L. Joy

Scott,
The BRIDGE! Yes! Instantly reminded of our collective work during the pandemic to “Bridge the Distance.”

Perfect!

gayle sands

I absolutely am grateful for the bridges we build here. Good to see you again, my friend!

Marilyn Miner

I’m glad that I came here today to be uplifted by June Jordan’s poems and this thoughtful prompt.

Threads

These scraps of fabric
they are the pieces I sew
when life is unraveling

These colors
they are soul psalms,
the glimmers of hope
I need

These stitches
they are the work
of my worn hands
which long
to hold you

How blessed I am
by threads
of memory,
of love

Denise Krebs

Marilyn, what beautiful images you have sewn together here. “soul psalms” wow–how lovely. That third stanza is so poignant. It tugs at my heart, and that last stanza = perfection.

Marilyn Miner

Thank you, Denise. I appreciate you.

gayle sands

Marilyn—I sense so much here—worry, hope, and love. So full of caring…

Marilyn Miner

Thank you for responding with care.

Juliette

Marilyn, the imagery is powerful, you have sewn a beautiful quilt in my mind. Your poem takes us on a beautiful journey, your last stanza shares that:
“How blessed I am
by threads
of memory,
of love”

Marilyn Miner

Thank you, Juliette! I enjoy the meditative quality of hand stitching.

Leilya Pitre

Marilyn, thank you so much for this beautiful quilt made of words and line you carefully stitched together. I can see the healing power of the threads and colors as your “soul psalms” giving you hope. So much beauty in one poem!

Susan

These images you weave together really work! With the basis of both being creation, the metaphor delights!

Marilyn,

Love this metaphor of fabric and the poet as sewing. Such art and skill by hand to stitch. And the “worn hands” as evidence of practice. Yes, of course, I am also “blessed… by threads” here. Thank you.

Sarah

Stacey L. Joy

Hi Marilyn,

I am pulled in right away and can visualize the beauty of your artistry! These lines sing to my heart:

These colors

they are soul psalms,

the glimmers of hope

I need

Truly a gorgeous poem.

Sue W.

Thank you, Sarah, for creating this space. I’ve been yearning for community and to write so this is a real gift.

These poems
once, the flood of them, the insistence to be birthed
Now, their absence
The haunting, the weighty not-ness

A poem should not mean but be
but shoulds shouldn’t
and poems do both
Even when they are not
yet
Their absence
is a presence
is a being

I am diving
into

Breathe

Denise Krebs

Sue, it’s so good to see you here and that you have found a space for community. I agree, it is a gift. That first stanza shares much of your writing history, and the second and conclusion are rich in growth and freedom to create–perhaps in a new way, a more complete and wise way. I am glad you are diving in.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Sue,

I am moved by these somewhat opposing images of presence and absence and then thought, of course, two things can be true. “Their absences/is a presence/is a being.” Thank you for this uncovering, and then the invitation to “diving/into/Breathe.” Ah, what a closing.

Sarah

Julie E Meiklejohn

Hi Sue! Glad to have you in our little community…it’s a great place!
I love your plays on words: “not-ness,” “shoulds shouldn’t.” It really adds depth to your poem.

Ann E, Burg

Hello! So happy to be here ~ thank you for introducing me to June Jordon. I look forward to reading more of her poems…and I am exciting to be breathing the beautiful words left here. It struck me as I read your poem, that begging seeds is a perfect metaphor for tapping letters since planting and writing share the same hope— to chance to give life to something that stirs inside us.

These nights 
are the lonesome call
of the loon
crossing the lake
searching for companionship.

This moon,
an alabaster orb
left in the sky
by a gracious God
to guide and guard.

These stars,
dimmed by the moonlight
are the whispered words
of poets
who fashion or read
promises of hope
even in darkest night.

Ann,

I embrace the trio of the night, moon, stars that the speaker admires here with the sound of the loon, the alabaster orb, and the whispered words. Indeed, this is the promise of hope. Yes, yes. Poems are hope “even in the darkest night” and, gosh, are there a lot of dark nights out there in the world.

Peace,
Sarah

Marilyn Miner

I loved these gorgeous images!

Julie E Meiklejohn

Beautiful! Your alliteration really enhances the poem’s beauty: lonesome/loon/lake; gracious God/guide/guard. Love it!

Kim Johnson

Ann, the words of poets as stars of hope on the darkest night – – such a twinkling of light and comfort!

gayle sands

Ann—

promises of hope
even in darkest night.

we need these words!

Carriann

I am, admittedly, more of a reader than a writer, but I’m trying to push myself to write more this summer.

Books

These books,
they are the things I do
with my time,
I reach for when
they call to me,
longing to be read

These pages
comfort me,
entertain me,
surprise me,
teach me,
offer me a world
besides my own

These words,
they are lifelines to
adventures I may never
get to experience
myself.

Sue W.

I appreciate this ode to reading and books. Your poem makes me reflect on the way books sustain so many of us.

Ann E, Burg

Hi Carriann! it seems to me you are writer as well as a reader! It all starts with a longing to connect with something outside ourselves. The books we read and the words we write are both lifelines to adventure!

Cariann,

What a lovely way to share your readerly life with us: in a poem. Yes, “These pages” can serve us in so many ways — comfort, entertain, surprise, teach. And these poems are pages that do that, too. For me, your poem and others here are “lifelines”!

Peace,
Sarah

Marilyn Miner

Yes, all the books! I probably read too many murder mysteries, but books are my happy place, too.

Leilya Pitre

“These words, / they are lifelines” speaks to me today. Your appreciation of books resonates with me closely as well. You write wisely Carriann! Thank you.

Stacey L. Joy

Carriann,
Brilliant choice! I imagine this poem on a library wall to pull all the readers in to this safe and loving space within books.

I am promising myself I will read more than I write this summer. I hope you and I both accomplish our goal. I love your writing so please keep writing!

Thank you for offering this gift today!

Denise Krebs

Sarah, I’m going to enjoy listening to June Jordan. Thank you for introducing me to a new poet. Your second stanza speaks so much truth that I can relate to. Some tasks are about real living, and the pain goes unnoticed. Thank you for hosting us today.

These poets
are the impetus of identity
the providers of peace
in knowing myself
loving myself
more honestly
the seekers of truth
in finding my way
in the world as it
really is and not just
as I always knew it

These poems
are the tingling fingers
of an adventurous
and risky
ascent
into
knowing

These interactions
are the honeyed
story
of
life 

Sue W.

Denise, this middle stanza! The tingling fingers, the risky ascent into knowing. You really capture the stakes of poetry and what it can do to and for and with us.

Oh, Denise, how sweet is that phrase “are the honeyed/story/of/life.” What a wonderful word to think of how interactions honey, do the honeying, have honeyed. Love it.

Sarah

Marilyn Miner

I loved all the names—the impetus of identity, the providers of peace, the seekers of truth, the tingling fingers. Each one is so evocative. Beautifully written.

Glenda Funk

Denise,
What a lovely way to honor poets and poetry. “the impetus of identity” and “providers of peace.” Yes to this from our poet friends.

Barb Edler

Denise, your poem is so provocative! I’m wondering about the risky ascent into knowing and discovering one’s true self. Loving honestly is particularly moving and I love the positivity at the end, how life can be honeyed and sweet. Captivating poem!

Leilya Pitre

Oh, Denise, that final stanza just stole my heart for today with it “honeyed / story / of / life.”
I see how these words and poems are guiding you in your self-exploration, in knowing yourself and the world that is constantly changing.

Stacey L. Joy

Denise, hi my friend! I’ve missed being here with you and feel warm again reading your poem. So many lines I held closely:

the impetus of identity

the providers of peace

ahhhh….

the honeyed

story

of

life 

Well done, my friend!

gayle sands

These interactions
are the honeyed
story
of
life 

isn’t is good to be back with all our stories of life? My tingling fingers were so ready to write again!

Susan

Denise,
so much to love in your poem! I love the idea of “honeyed.” My favorite part is

finding my way

in the world as it

really is and not just

as I always knew it

I think many of us have leaned to challenge our existing thoughts and experiences in this space.

Julie E Meiklejohn

Oh, I am so glad to be back in this space! Thank you, Sarah, for this luscious prompt! I love the line “…feel no pain tapping letters into a poem.” Poetry really does heal us, in so many ways.

These Poems

These poems
are shifting breaks in the trees,
seen in only the briefest of flashes,
spilling forth bright sun

These poems
are hidden jeweled worlds, complete
inside dusty cupboards
and wardrobes

These poems
are cattle prods, spearing
stubborn, thick-skinned
thoughts, drawing fresh blood

These poems
are time machines, blasting
off into the tiny, forgotten
moments that form a life

These poems
are snowy signposts,
nearly covered, but still visible,
pointing the way home.

Sue W.

Julie, there’s so much powerful metaphor and imagery here. You’ve managed to encapsulate so many different ways poems can be and the effects they can have in this short piece. I love it all, especially the spaces in the trees and the nearly covered snowy signposts. Thank you.

Julie,

“snowy signposts” is a lovely phrase in the sound and meaning for me. Yes, there is this sense that the poem exists and is “nearly covered” but visible.

Sarah

Marilyn Miner

Oh my goodness, what strong, vivid images! You surprised me with cattle prods, but I felt the truth there.

Sharon Roy

Julie,

I wrote my poem before reading yours, but your first stanza feels like another way of describing what I was picturing in my first stanza. That makes me happy—an example of the ways we connect as poets.

I like the variety of your images and how you move us from trees to cattle prods to snowy sign posts.

Thanks for sharing.

Mo Daley

These Poems
By Mo Daley 6/15/24

These poems are
earworms
haunting me
until I can’t take it
anymore

These poems are
red headed woodpeckers
constantly pecking at me
fighting to be
released

These poems are
my escape
from the clamor
of this dismal
world

Mo,

You made me smile with the metaphor of “earworm.” At first kind of gross but then, yes, perfect in how a poem can “haunt” and agitate. And then, yes, of course, the woodpeckers. I hear them every morning trying to get me to join the world — like a poem. Perfect. I am seeing this all in new ways because of your poem. Thank you.

Sarah

Stacey L. Joy

Ohhhhh, Mo, I am feeling every bit of this poem! You nailed it.

May we all be able to find refuge in poetry!

gayle sands

Sarah–so good to be back! And what a beginning you have given us! So many beautiful details, letting us into your life…

These poems
they are things that I do
in the morning when 
I feed the dogs, make my coffee
and do my puzzles 
while you sleep.
 
These words 
they are the ones
I say every night 
as I doze off beside you.
 
This wish 
it is the wish I make 
every afternoon.

Give me five more years. 
With your bad knees 
and your struggling breath
and your heart that beats oddly
and your words that make me laugh. 

Stay here with me, please.
Five more years. 
And maybe more after that, 
if you can.

These poems–
that is what they say.

GJSands
6-15-24
  

Carriann

Gayle, I’ve never felt this “hang on a little longer” feeling, but after reading your poem, I can imagine how difficult that must be.

Ann E, Burg

That a such a tender, moving poem Gayle. I feel as if I’ve crawled into your life and into your heart. It is strange that however direct we are, the roots of our poems are so much deeper than our words. Your poem has turned into my prayer.

Gayle,
You made me smile warmly with your signature tone and poetic voice in the “give me five more years/with your bad knees” — for the truth and pain in the living and a life lived. And your final closing stanza is perfect yes, “that is what they say.”

Sarah

Marilyn Miner

♥️♥️♥️

Scott M

Gayle, this is really lovely: a bit mournful and longing and so tender. Thank you for this!

Katrina Morrison

Gayle, I can identify with the longing expressed lines like, “Give me five more years/With your bad knees.” We need those we love. Also we need the poems, the words, the wishes, but your poem reminds me that they need us just as much.

Sharon Roy

Gayle,

This is such a beautiful poem of love.

I like how you give us both the quotidian details—dogs, puzzles, bad knees—and the overwhelming, overarching yearning for more time.

Thank you for sharing.

Leilya Pitre

I am with Scott, Gayle. Your poem seems to be so longing, tender, and mournful. All these feelings are so familiar to me. Sending kind words your way ❤️

Denise Krebs

Oh, Gayle, peace to you. Your poem is mournful and celebrates long lasting love. Here’s to five more years and maybe more.

Emily Cohn

Sarah, I love your concept of poems connecting us to both others and ourselves. I love the “hollow ticks of my heart wishing to be heard” – yes. I love how there’s both solitude and connection in here in a balance – the pets that I assume are f & j, and the intended audience. I really liked it!

These Poems

These poems are splashes
of cold water on my pillow-creased face
awakening and connecting
me to me.

These poems remind me
my hands can do more
than opening more
applesauce pouches
for a fussing, rosy-cheeked toddler.

These poems know
that giving food to my child
is a poem, too.

Awaken.
Connect.
Am I ready?
Let’s open some more.

Emily,

F and J are the keys on the keyboard where I find the home keys for writing.

I love how your poems echo this reminder of what “my hands can do more/than opening/applesauce pouches” which, of course, is important and essential and nourishing of others, but in a different way. Your poem is an opening for nourishment that I am feeling (and so deeply needing) today. Thank you.

Sarah

Denise Krebs

Emily, congrats for getting up and making time for this kind of poetry too. (For yes, “giving food to my child is a poem, too” Beautiful) That first stanza is such a great metaphor. First, it’s a great description of the early morning wake up, and then to read it with “These poems” is just magical.

Stacey L. Joy

Emily, how adorable to bring in the poetic nature of feeding our babies! But I also adore the opening with splashes of cold water and connecting “me to me.”

Our hands do so much and they deserve all the love your poem brings. Thank you!

gayle sands

These poems know
that giving food to my child
is a poem, too.

I remember those days so well. And I am glad that you are taking time for both Pindar of poetry. Those pouches and your words…

Juliette

At Work

These colleagues
they are the anchor
that holds me up
when all’s strewn 
by the wind

These walls
they are the bells
that ring in my ear,
each word a
prized possession

These plants
they are the windows
that share the life
and growth
we seek 

I’m here 
stringing bonds 
and 
growing minds

Emily Cohn

Juliette, I got this beautiful image of you sitting in a classroom at the end of the year, feeling so much gratitude for the moments you’ve shared. I also resonated with the line “these colleagues / they are the anchor / that hold me up / when all’s strewn / by the wind.” Why does my classroom at the end of the year always look like a hurricane has blown through? I think my hair does, too! And my colleagues are indeed there as anchors. Thanks for giving beautiful words to this end-of-year feeling.

Juliette,

What a trio of stanzas for Work in the colleagues, walls, and plants. Each stanza is a scene of its own, so vivid and alive in the way you, the poet, string them together as writer and teacher.

Sarah

Denise Krebs

Oh, Juliette, what a gorgeous poem of you and the work you do as a teacher. I love the images and that last summarizing stanza is beautiful. “stringing bonds” such a powerful part of our work.

Dave Wooley

Juliette,

Your poem captures the essence of teaching. I imagine that the plants in the 3rd stanza are your students–but possibly the plants that we decorate and enliven our classrooms with.

That last stanza is perfect–anchoring the role of the teacher. And your place in that role.

Sharon Roy

Juliette,

what a beautiful description of the work of teaching.

Your last stanza is so powerful and pure:

I’m here 

stringing bonds 

and 

growing minds

Susan O

These Poems

Other poems
hit my heart
to the core
and give me spirit 
reason to write
these poems 
of mine
that spring from my heart
rise up from my soul
and give me animation
reason to reveal

Will you listen?

So nice to be writing and reading with you again!

Emily Cohn

Susan, I really like the line “reason to reveal” – yes! Making yourself known in just the words that feel like you is a wonderful feeling. I agree, seeing other people write makes me want to write, too. I think you really captured the spirit of a writing community in these lines. Thank you for this!

Susan,

Oh, “give me animation” is such a lovely phase. To think of a waiting for the “rise up from my soul” and that a poem can bring to life what needs purpose, “reason to reveal.” Yes, yes that’s it. And, yes, I will listen!

Peace,
Sarah

Denise Krebs

Susan, I thought of that connection between other poets that “hit my heart / to the core” and then cause me to write poems “that spring from my heart” So beautiful! Yes, I want to listen to you! It is very good to be back here with you after a long break.

Kim Johnson

Susan, reason to reveal – – the drive, the mission, the purpose. I love poems that ignite a fever for life and the living, and yours does this today.

Leilya Pitre

Susan, you make such a vital connection between the poets; we are both readers and writers. Your poems “hit my heart” and “give me spirit” to write mine. We are feeding off, supporting, and uplifting each other. I love to listen. Thank you!

Joanne Emery

Thank you for this prompt, Sarah. I love what everyone has done with June Jordan’s idea. I read all the poem that were here when I opened my computer this morning and then I added this:

Take These

These hands
achy and stiff
knuckles knotted
flex to finally bend,
tap out what is
in my mind
at the moment.

These thoughts
run freely across
summer meadows,
jump and skip
over streams
splashing everyone
with surprising delight.

These words
are placed down
onto the white stage,
gesturing and turning,
talking to one another
demanding to be heard,
then taking a final bow.

These ideas
are not over
They come to me –
important, imploring,
They may be old,
achy and stiff,
but they endure.

Emily Cohn

Joanne, I love the spirit of words waking up and playing and streching that you’ve woven throughout your verses here! I love the freedom expressed in the summer meadow stanza – what fun! Your metaphors show words out to play, though they may feel achy and stiff at first, and how important playing is, especially with words on a page! What a delightful and inspiring offering.

Joanne,

I am lingering on the image of “onto the white stage” knowing the color is significant to the “demanding to be heard” and that the speaker is heard on this stage because there is a “final bow.” But the word “final” has me wondering and hoping it is among other finals and not the last bow. The concluding line gives me hope of many more stages: “but they endure.” Yes, yes they do.

Peace,
Sarah

Barb Edler

Joanne, I love how your poem circles back to the beginnings. The aches are real, the words in your second stanza are playful, and your ending is powerful. Love the focus on movement throughout. Exquisite poem!

Kim Johnson

Joanne, I am right there with you on the last three lines. I love your beginnings of stanzas and the ways you build out your poem. Long live the ideas!

Patricia Franz

These seeds

air warms, ignites
a spark of life inside
like the Jeffrey pine
births new cones 

from each branch
no purpose 
only needing 
to speak its truth

I am here
and have seeds
to share

Patricia,

With the first line, I yearned for seeds to grow. I have tried to literally plant seeds only never to see them sprout, and so the image here is so strong. Your poem shows how nature is the nurturer of the seed, not a person or maybe that there are so many elements needed to bring a seed alive. Maybe just a poet. Yes, a poet is all we need “and have seeds/to share.”

Peace,
Sarah

Denise Krebs

Patricia,
“These seeds” I know hold rich promise for you as a tree planter and mostly as a poet. There are so many lovely lines–“air warms, ignites / a spark of life inside” It makes me think of poetry and speaking truth in new ways today. Thank you for sharing your seeds here. And welcome again to this space! It’s so good to see you.

Kim Johnson

Patricia, the seeds of newness and growth are intriguing. When I hear of seeds, I want to cheer the life, cheer the growing, cheer the blooms. Cheers for seeds!

Dave Wooley

Boxes

These boxes being
carried out, wheeled out
2, 3 at a time,
Dwindling from small towers
mini-city blocks of boxes
carted away to reveal empty
box-like rooms.

Echoing like empty caverns.

Boxes full of memories
Pictures from Lisbon
a sundress that smells
of a salty sea breeze,
divorce agreement and
tax documents,
marriage certificates
and medical records

A whole round life
wedged into boxes
to be shipped away
from the place
we’ve made
our life.

Dave,

Thanks for this poem of “These boxes” to show a way this prompt can be adapted beyond the subject of poetry. I like thinking about the examples we have here to inspire our students to find the “These” in their lives to explore.

Someone is moving, yes? Or are these the papers of many lives “Lisbon…divorce…tax…marriage…medical”? I can see these are a collection of a family or one life that has lived, just lived. The story our papers tell.

Then moving into the final stanza I see these boxes as “a whole round life” and the “we’ve” pronoun helps the reader puzzle out the life here. Still, the we is elusive and the we has likely changed to include and let go of people.

I am left with wonderings and grief. Yes, grief.

Peace,
Sarah

Dave Wooley

My family is moving, yes! And, literally, the boxes are being moved out as I write. Thanks for your thoughtful comment and this prompt that helped me to work towards making sense of this chaotic moment.

Mo Daley

Hi Dave. I can see that your move is on your mind! Those boxes are filled with so much, aren’t they? You’ve captured beautifully how so many memories are tied up with the “stuff” we own and choose to take with us. Your poem strikes me as a bit bittersweet. Best of luck with your move.

Barb Edler

Dave, I can feel the weight of your boxes stuffed full of necessary things and memories that are both pleasant and painful. I was struck by the sense of shape you create through your language, the dichotomy between round and square and how both the positive and negatives of life can be wedged together. The sundress smell followed by divorce papers is particularly striking and moving!

Leilya Pitre

Dave, I remember you shared in April that you would be moving for a new job, so boxes make perfect sense in your poem. Moving office, moving home stuff is like moving lives. So much to do! Then all the papers and things you go through during the process seem like your “whole round of life / wedged into boxes.” Good luck in a new house and new job!

gayle sands

I felt the pang of boxing up a life through you. But these lines—
“Pictures from Lisbon/a sundress that smells/of a salty sea breeze”
are the ones that found a home in me. Good luck with your move!

Jamie Langley

This poem
These poems which tickle my brain urging me to pick up my pen.
These words which play in the space, bounce off each other in search of a home.
These lines emerge creating a structure for the words and ideas.
I am merely a conduit in a moment of fortune.

Jamie,

These images of “tickling” and “play” are a lovely way to think of the stirring of a poem that is sort of using the writer in this image of a “conduit.” Love thinking about the ticks as an entity controlling us to pick up a pen.

How is your writing program coming along?

Sarah

Jamie Langley

I have just retired. I’m looking forward to reclaiming space for writing like this morning.

Mo Daley

Great take on the prompt, Jamie. I love how active “these poems” are. The idea of being a conduit is lovely.

Denise Krebs

Jamie, nice job! I love how “This poem” came to be through your words. I thought of the word “conduit” this morning too, as I contemplated poetry and what it does for me and through me. I like the power of that word “fortune” there too.

Barb Edler

Jamie, I can feel the urge to write in your poem. That tickle that encourages action. Your ending was delightful, and I am struck with the thought that having this space full of poems and readers is a fortiune to treasure. Glad to read that you will have time to devote to writing. Looking forward to reading more of your poetry.

Sharon Roy

Hi Jamie,

Love your humble ending—so like you:

I am merely a conduit in a moment of fortune

Happy writing and connecting!

Leilya Pitre

Jamie, I like how you bring the idea of conduit to the forefront in the final line. “These words… in search of a home” resonate with so many of us. Thank you!

Susan

My heart is singing to be back in this space with all of you. It feels like forever!

Sarah, thank you for this wonderful prompt and dive into June Jordan. Grateful that poetry became more accessible to all. Your mentor poem amazes me. In so few words you capture so much. I can especially relate to the idea that when writing poetry, other pains are masked and ignored.

pieces of the puzzle

these poems
replete with clues 
meant for you to piece
together 
to unravel
the mystery
of me.

these poems 
foreshadow
and hint 
to who I am
and what I’ve done
and who I wish to be.

these poems 
contain
red herrings
to guide you 
away from 
the real me.

these stanzas
reveal
the awful truths

these lines
disclose 
details better left
unshared

these words
uncover the 
core of someone
you don’t know
and don’t want to.

these poems,
these mirrors
full of cracks,
offer distorted 
pieces of me

have fun 
filtering fact
from 
fiction.

~Susan Ahlbrand
15 June 2024

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Oh, Susan, this is everything. I love every stanza, but the “red herring” one has me lingering a bit longer because I think of the red herrings we offer intentionally and sometimes, maybe subconsciously (at least I think I do that because when others read it, you help me solve the mystery or offer a missing piece of the puzzle). I also love how the poem is a puzzle and then collectively, your full body of work, Susan, is another sort of puzzle. We have come to know what you want us to over time, “these poems,/these mirrors” and “pieces of me” that we “filter” with you. What an honor is it to read your poems and pieces of your life.

Sarah

Mo Daley

I love this, Susan. So many truths in what you wrote this morning. I really like the mirror imagery and the almost flippant attitude in your last stanza. Well done!

Dave Wooley

Susan,

This poem is so much fun and contains so many truths! I’m drawn to the verbs that you use to anchor each of the stanzas–and I appreciate how the poem unravels and elucidates as you read on. I am–in fact–having fun filtering fact from fiction!

Kim Johnson

Susan, I am loving the ending here! You add an unexpected twist at the end, kind of a guessing game of mystery. The mirrors full of cracks show the facets of the layers of being. I love the mystery and questions.

Leilya Pitre

Susan, what a puzzle you created here inviting us to solve the mystery of you with clues, hints, foreshadowing and misleading red herrings. The mirror image with cracks offering “distorted pieces” creates even more suspense. We will just have to get you know better with each of the poem you write )) Thank you for this gift today!

gayle sands

Susan—bravo! You teased all the way through, and ended with the best line ever!

Barb Edler

Susan, you’ve captured perfectly how we control the narrative as poets. We can disclose or we can lie. There is something curious about how we desire people to understand but how we also love to lead them astray. The awful truths are always a risk, as the response may not be expected or accepting. I often think to myself, why, why did I share that…and I think your poem captures and resonates the power of a writer’s intentions and how they have control over the message. Provocative poem! Love the invitation in your last stanza!

Denise Krebs

Susan, wow–“red herrings” and “awful truths” one right after the other made me realize the truths and partial truths and fiction we tell in our poetry.

Barb Edler

Sarah, thank you so much for hosting today. We are off on a Grant Wood adventure this morning, so I’ll be back to comment more later. Your poem is phenomenal, and I loved the line: “stroking f & j/begging a seed”. Your ending is delivered perfectly.

Tourniquet

these poems
are broken vines
tendrils reaching
for support along 
a slippery slope
sliding backwards
climbing again

my fingers
fetid and foul
fold into fetal
curls of confusion
wail like a heart of dark
longing to connect

these words
pricked by thorny stems
search for a chink of  light
in a jungle of despair
weave a tourniquet
of a’s and b’s and e’s

I bind the wounds—
breathe

Barb Edler
15 June 2024

Joanne Emery

Oh, I needed your strong voice this morning, Barb. Letters as tourniquet to bind wounds – a powerful image. I especially love the alliteration in:
my fingers
fetid and foul
fold into fetal
curls of confusion
wail like a heart of dark
longing to connect

Thank you!

Jamie Langley

I love the tourniquet metaphor. It immediately captured my interest wondering what you might squeeze out. The climbing vines, fetid and foul, prickled by thorny stems. , closing with weave a tourniquet of a’s, b’s and e’s. I enjoyed where I was taken.

Barb,

That second stanza in particular has the f words turning that tourniquet. The alliteration of fetid and foul and fold into fetal are all sorts of bounding that hold longing and seek the release of that “breathe” you exhale in the final word. So beautiful.

Sarah

Glenda Funk

Barb,
This is a quintessential Barb poem, a verse expressing doubt, perfectly captured in the title, and penned beautifully, especially that second stanza and these words:
my fingers
fetid and foul
fold into fetal
curls of confusion.”
The alliteration is perfect. I love the image of a fetus as a poem awaiting birth, still unfinished.

Allison Berryhill

Isn’t it fun to start recognizing each other by our writing choices?

Denise Krebs

Barb, your voice rises above to shout from the mountaintops. Your binding of the wounds and breathing here at the end is that sweet hope we’re left with. You found “a chink of light”
So beautiful.

This right here is a master class on alliteration:

fetid and foul

fold into fetal

curls of confusion

Dave Wooley

Barb,
I love the extended metaphor of the tourniquet—it adds such a sense of urgency to the poem. And then the vines add another layer of complexity. Your poem really gets at the process of writing poetry that can be painful and healing. I loved this!

Kim Johnson

Barb, what imagery! I see the vines climbing, these poems taking different turns and directions. I am especially touched by these lines:
my fingers
fetid and foul
fold into fetal
curls of confusion
wail like a heart of dark

The wailing adds rich sound to the visual imagery.

Leilya Pitre

Barb, from the title to the final word, this is a poem that holds so much tension, but allows for its release with the ending stanza: “I bind the wounds–/ breathe.” Everyone has commented on the perfect alliteration in the second stanza that speeds up the dynamic progression of the poem. Beautiful and masterful execution Barb!

Susan

Barb,
The entire poem is just wonderful, but I especially love everything about the first stanza. The image of the tendril of a poem climbing up and then slipping (not being understood perhaps) and then climbing again is so thought-provoking.
And i love the additional idea of the tourniquet!

Allison Berryhill

Barb, I am always rewarded when I search our your poems. Your fingers folding into fetal curls was so original and clear in imagery. I’m now looking at my (same) fingers on the keyboard. Fetal is such a word of
“just beginning” and “unformed”–which worked so well in this exploration of what it means/is to craft poetry.
Thank you, friend.

Margaret Simon

Thanks Sarah for this poem that eases us into writing. I’ve been taking some time off, not really on purpose, but because of life. “I am practicing living with every letter” speaks to me this morning. Using June’s poem as a guide made the writing flow.

These poems
they are sated
with sweet wine.

These lips
open for words
whispered to wind.

These wishes
wander in warm sun
hoping to find
your heart
to hold.

I follow these strokes
stem by stem
scribbles of ink
seeking recognition.

Do you see me?

Kim Johnson

Margaret, I am taken by
open for words
whispered to wind

especially the way wine lingers
on the lips, sweetening the
conversation between friends.

Oh, what a beautiful poem and the comforting feeling of being seen, found after seeking.

Barb Edler

Margaret, your poem is so ethereal. I almost ending my poem with Do you hear me so I adore that final line. I can taste the sweetness and feel the warm sun. Your sensory details stroke the reader like a caress. Beautiful!

Joanne Emery

Margaret – these images are so warm, full, and inviting. Your poem opens like a flower waiting to be admired. And we do. Thank you!

Margaret,

The “lips/open for words” feels so embodied, sensual and alive. I find myself yearning to “wander in warm sun” to feel that on my skin. The “you” feels like it is me and any reader but also someone else to the speaker — singular and collective– in the way that being seen can feel at once personal and social. You really captured what a poem can do and be. I see you here in “these lips” that spoke a poem today.

Peace,
Sarah

Leilya Pitre

I see you, Margaret, between these lines! Love the second stanza and will hold onto it for awhile. Thank you!

Kim Johnson

Sarah, I don’t think I’ve ever been more ready for a writers’ reunion than I am today. My soul is parched from this absence since the end of April, so today is the hydration my spirit needed. Thank you for hosting us today and introducing us to June Jordan. I can’t wait to read more of her work. You chose a wonderful mentor for us to use today and then showed us how we might structure our verse. Fingers, poems, ticks – a breath of fresh air with each tick of the keyboard becoming a letter, each letter a word, a thought, a message, a hope, a healing. Oh, the power of words to take us to places of joy. I used Jordan’s structure and borrowed your word – hollow.

Now This

these nights
they are
hormonal hot
flash hell ~
flapping bedbirds
fluffing sheets
sleeplessly
in all the heat
and rumble
of the dark

these nightmares
they rage in ~
nocturnal carnage
at the screaming
speed of melatonin
on the yellow
eyes of a
Great Horned
Owl in a
trembling tree hollow

these scarecrows
they lurk now
in sweet meadows
where as children
we found
peaceful slumber
we called
sweet dreams ~
all those sugarplums
that once danced
in our heads

~ now this

Linda Mitchell

Sing it, sister! The images jumbled as they are describe this situation perfectly…aging, being older in the way that teenage felt and remembering childhood. That all makes sense of what I am experiencing right here and now.

Barb Edler

Kim, I feel your “nocturnal carnage” through every word. Yes, this time in your life will be full of scarecrows. I think your ending is provocative, and I want to send you a big hug and to reassure you that eventually this too will pass, but it surely isn’t easy as your poem depicts. Wishing you sugarplums very soon!

Joanne Emery

Kim – that last line – now this – wow – it is a gut punch. We can feel the tension, the desperate need for sleep. I love the alliteration in:
hormonal hot
flash hell ~
flapping bedbirds
fluffing sheets
sleeplessly
in all the heat

Patricia Franz

Memorable and stark images, Kim! Oh the battles of our bodies, and our words! I love nocturnal nightmares…they bring forward so many experiences. Thank you for sharing this.

Kim,

Wow. Just wow.

I love how you are drawing on the rhythm of “these” in this scene of night that is so situated in the embodiment of being a woman with the “flash hell” that I understand and the “scarecrows” lurking almost taunting that “peaceful slumber” children seem to fall into. Oh, yes, how I wish it were easy and that night could once again be restful. You captured it all so beautifully.

Peace,
Sarah

Susan O

I think your words in the comments before your poem say a lot by
“the power of words to take us to places of joy.” Your poem takes me to the desperate cries from my daughter who would agree with the nocturnal carnage, the Great Horned Owl, the scarecrows that lurk. I am grateful to now be older and past those hormonal hauntings.

Glenda Funk

Kim,
I empathize w/ these nocturnal haunting born out of all it means to be a woman. Boy do I know
“hot
flash hell ~
flapping bedbirds”
The image of sheets w/ wings as you’re shaking them to get relief is perfect. What is the scarecrow now, I wonder. Memories? Yes. But they are so much more as women tunnel through middle age.

Leilya Pitre

Kim, your poem hits so close to home. I thought I was past that “flash hell” already, but had an epidural steroid shot in my back on Wednesday, and one of the side effects are increasingly intense hot flashes. Hope your nights get easier soon. Hang in there! Less caffeine and spices in your diet help quite a bit. Hugs!

gayle sands

Wow!! You snagged me in the fist stanza (I know those flapping bedsheets…) and ended with a memory of this sweet dreams…

Heidi Ames

These Poems

These poems
are meanderings of my heart
Thinking back
to the good old days
Traversing new territories
elation and despair

These poems
are written for me
As a gift for you
always from the heart
Slipping through stanzas
making sense of the undeniable

These poems
flow from my heart
Hoping to make you feel
something, anything
Everything
Isn’t that what these poems do?

Linda Mitchell

Such a lovely question at the end…of course…we are permitted to keep meandering, pondering. Wonderful!

Kim Johnson

Heidi, I’m drawn and redrawn to

making sense of the undeniable

and

something, anything
Everything

and your question at the end – what a
magnificent finish! Yes, yes, yes!
That’s what poems do.

Joanne Emery

Heidi – I love that you end with a question. And my favorite lines are:
Slipping through stanzas
making sense of the undeniable

Jamie Langley

I love your words meanderings of my heart, traversing new territories, making sense of the undeniable. Your words leave me with the air of mystery.

Patricia Franz

I love written to make sense of the undeniable, Heidi. It captures the heart of why I must write— whether wrenching truth or beauty. Thank you for sharing this.

Heidi,

Thank you for sharing this feltness of poems as meandering to the past AND “traversing new territories.” Yes, we can meander where we wish and need. Such agency there when so much of our live restricts and constrains (or feels that way, at least).

I feel something. I do. Thank you.

Sarah

Christine Baldiga

That first stanza was perfect!

Linda Mitchell

Hooray! Ethical ELA is back. I am so happy to write with you all. I just got out of school and have slept in…all the way to 6 am. DeLIGHful!

Sarah, this is a welcome prompt. Some days, I wonder why I write? But then, June Jordan’s poem and your poem speak to the process of living life as a poet. I love that so much! “practicing living” is a stunning phrase in your poem. Thank you for today’s invitation to write.

This is the first bit of my poem. I’m still wound up from school and learning to relax. I need short poems and bits of poems for now.

These Poems

These poems
are paintings
for a gallery of my life
and yours.

Brush strokes
so fine and precise
are hard to see
until you come right up
close to the canvas.

Go ahead, touch.

I’ve learned to overlay color
in broader strokes
with a palette knife
heedless of popular opinion.
Sometimes, I am cut.

Do you hear weeping?

Margaret Simon

Wow! Linda, save this one. That ending is so full of feeling “Sometimes, I am cut. Do you hear weeping?”
I also love the single line “Go ahead, touch.” An invitation to interact with the art of the poem.

Kim Johnson

Linda, I love the way you bring the experience of seeing art close up and far away. The strokes and the fine lines and the closeups of canvas each tell a different perspective of the same story – life, with all its laughter and its beauty, also has its cuts and weeping woven into the tapestry of days. What a masterful piece! I love your poem!

Heidi Ames

Being an artist myself, I LOVE this poem. While I may hear weeping, I also see overwhelming joy in the process. Thank you.

Jamie Langley

I love your paintings for a gallery of your life metaphor. The metaphor is enhanced with brush strokes, and a palette knife.

Joanne Emery

Linda – I love that you end with a question and your last stanza reached out and grabbed me before I could touch:
I’ve learned to overlay color
in broader strokes
with a palette knife
heedless of popular opinion.
Sometimes, I am cut.

Patricia Franz

Poems as paintings, a gallery, feel like an invitation to linger, to study and discover the story within. I love that the story may be about the writer and the reader/viewer. Thank you for sharing this, Linda. It is a joy to read from familiar artists.

Linda,

Sending healing vibes as you unwind from the school year. Welcome to your break.

I am loving this painting metaphor here for all the ways is shows poeming as art that welcomes “touch”. And I can see how in the reading of your poem, I become another layer, or maybe I/we bring another stroke or palette to the meaning.

Peace,
Sarah

gayle sands

Wow!! This—go ahead, touch—wow.

Christine Baldiga

Thank you for this inspiration Sarah. I love the “hollow beats
of my heart wishing
to be heard.”

These Poems

These poems
are scribbles
written across
journals
reflecting thoughts
deep within
my soul

These thoughts
are aching
to be
released
held in by
time and
worldly constraints

These poems
bring peace
hope and joy
knowing that
finally
the words are
set free

Kevin

Christine,
Here’s hoping your last stanza is true.
Kevin

Linda Mitchell

What a hopeful image…the words set free. I love that.

Margaret Simon

I feel that some days when I write, that the words have been set free. I love how you molded the prompt.

Kim Johnson

Christine, the short lines really work so beautifully as the eye sweeps down to capture the joy of your poem ~ I feel my eyes are a long fish net, plunging in the clear water, rejuvenated spirit capturing the wellspring of poetry and holding it close. Catching, and then releasing it to swim back out and be scooped up by others, too. Powerful!

Heidi Ames

I love
These thoughts are aching to be released
Isn’t that what poetry is? I also love your last stanza
Finally the words are set free

Thank you for setting them free today.

Patricia Franz

Words that ache, that wait to be set free— contrasting the longing and then the lightness when they escape to the page… I wonder who is more at peace, the words or the writer? Thank you for sharing this, Christine.

Christine,

The image of scribbles feels so intimate in the way that our hand, your hand is the only one that can make the scribble just so rather than the mechanized fonts we see digitally. The scribble captures that “aching” and “worldly constraints.” Wow.

Great to be with you today,
Sarah

Susan O

Christine, you remind me about the thoughts aching to be released and the peace brought by writing with this group. Thanks.

Clayton Moon

Thank you for an amazing prompt!!! Ethical Ela is awesome!!

Everyone Negates Us Just,
Just Us Negates Everyone.

Just Under Neptune’s Ear,
Colorful fish did appear,
Some with stripes, some with stars,
Some with bows, some with scars.
Each swished amongst the same,
Different schools seeking fame.
Justice Under Neptune’s Ear,
As schools paraded far and near.
And he declared on different days,
“ Fish celebrate in their own way.
And there would be no slapping of fins,
Love one another even if you have to pretend.
And all of you will be recognized,
An ocean of fish with no disguise.”
Jesus Understands Neptune’s Ear,
He divided the fish, so we all stay here.
Thirty days to celebrate each and all,
Independently different that’s all.
And the fish swim,
And they swim,
Because they swam.
Joining Under New Era,
Where they swim may be better?

-Boxer

Kevin

Neptune’s Ear — such a wonderful phrase.
Kevin

Linda Mitchell

This poem pulls me right in to the world where Neptune has an ear and that ear orients me to more fantastical elements…I want to know about those fish and how loving one and other is what keeps those fish swimming. Such a beautiful complexity with easy words to read and hear. Bravo!

Margaret Simon

I see your play with the letters of June’s name to create something unique. My granddaughter’s name is June, so I am contemplating this way of entering into a mystical world. “Joining under new era” of my baby June’s world.

Joanne Emery

Wow! This was a treat for my ears, eyes, and mind. I love the wordplay with the month of June and the reference to Jesus dividing fish. You have created such rich, memorable images.

Kevin

Thank you, Sarah, for the invitation, and for the poems (June Jordan’s and yours).
Kevin

These poems;
sometimes, they situate
in quiet emptiness –
mere gaps
and idle notations – thoughts
flitting about as feathers
broken by the breeze –
the bird, merely memory;
blink, and maybe
in that moment,
we might see

Christine Baldiga

“Maybe in that moment we might see” This really moved me Kevin! Thank you

Linda Mitchell

The sense of time in this poem is dreamy…blinking to see a wonderful paradox that’s so true! Good poem to wake up to, today.

Margaret Simon

I love where you landed with this poem…that “we might see.”

Heidi Ames

 thoughts
flitting about as feathers
broken by the breeze –

what a lovely visual this brought me. I’d like to paint that.

I also love blink, and maybe
in that moment,
we might see.

Thank you for these wonderful words this morning.

Joanne Emery

Ooo Kevin – I love this – especially: thoughts flitting about as feathers broken by the breeze – the bird, merely memory. Wow! And then the blink and the hope that maybe “we might see.” Brilliant! Thank you!

Patricia Franz

Feathers, the bird merely memory — speaks to me intuitively. One object that carries a whole world within it- that maybe we might see. Thank you for sharing this.

Sarah J. Donovan, PhD (s/her)

Kevin,

Words “situate” and “mere” and “idle” are so lovely to say as I read your poem aloud. Your metaphor of “thoughts/flitting about as feathers/broken by the breeze” stuns me, makes me linger in that image. Yes, yes, my words flit, too. Sometimes I love that, and sometimes it feels so elusive.

Sarah

Susan

Kevin,
“idle notations” . . .
in a way this minimizes what poetry is but I know you don’t mean that, which makes it all the more thought-provoking.
The alliteration with the Fs and Bs and Ms really adds power!