Welcome to Day 3 of the August 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 the prompt below and then, when you are ready, write in the comment section below. We do ask that if you write, in the spirit of reciprocity, you respond to three or more writers. To learn more about the Open Write, click here.

Margaret with her three grandchildren, Leo, Thomas, and Stella

Margaret Simon lives on the Bayou Teche in New Iberia, Louisiana.  Margaret has been an elementary school teacher for 35 years, most recently teaching gifted students in Iberia Parish. Her first book of children’s poetry was published in 2018 by UL Press, Bayou Song: Creative Explorations of the South Louisiana Landscape. Margaret’s poems have appeared in anthologies including The Poetry of US by National Geographic and Rhyme & Rhythm: Poems for Student Athletes.  Margaret writes a blog regularly at http://reflectionsontheteche.com.

Inspiration

I subscribe to a few Poem-of-the-Day emails. Sometimes I have time to dig into a poem and its process for inspiration. On August 5th, Poetry Magazine sent a poem by Dean Rader, “Did You Walk to Oklahoma.” The poem was written “After Edgar Heap of Birds, “Ocmulgee” (2005).” When I googled Edgar Heap of Birds, I did not realize it was an artist’s name. The poet explored Heap of Birds’ artwork and used spaces to reflect his response.  I was fascinated by the phrasing and repetition in the poem, the spaces between words. How do spaces work differently from punctuation to tell a reader how the poem should be read?

Process

Choose a work of art or creative practice and explore phrasing, spaces, and repetition in the way Dean Rader does. How can you evoke an emotion by playing with this form? 

I recorded my yoga teacher’s class. I’ve always thought the way she speaks to us is poetic. I explored using her words and instead of punctuation, I spaced words out. How does this evoke the feeling of being present in the class, of meditation, of breath? 

(Note: If you’d like to use spacing in crafting your poem, the comment box may not preserve this, but you can type your poem and then take a screenshot just before submitting to submit the screenshot, too.)

Margaret’s Poem

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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DeAnna C.

Margaret,
Thanks for a wonderful prompt.

Two wooden needles
Creating loops
Yarn in front
Yarn in back
Changes the fabric made

Two wooden needles
Stabbing
Wrapping
Dropping off
Releases tension of the day

Rachelle

I love how you started each of your stanzas the same way–much like this activity is repetitive and soothing. I feel a sense of calmness as I read, so you have done a great job transcribing knitting into poetry form. Thank you!

Rachelle

Margaret, I noticed myself paying attention to my breathing as I read your poem. Thank you for the much needed break in the day! My poem is passed off an artist that popped up on my Twitter feed. I found his oil paintings of extremely ordinary objects fascinating (especially after just reading this piece by the New York Times)

Painting: PBJ & Glass of Chocolate Milk

there 
is something 
so ordinary and 
nostalgic about a peanut 
butter and jelly sandwich cut 
diagonally. the textures and flavors
ooze out its wonder bread protection.
It rests, abandoned, on top a glass (over half 
full) of chocolate milk; jam leaking down the side.

DeAnna C.

Rachelle,
YES!! I can feel the pb&j sticking to the roof of my mouth. The extra softness of the wonder bread also sticks.
Ah the good old days.
Thank you for sharing.

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Margaret, your poem brought to mind the news this weekend of immigrants being bussed from Texat to NYC, and revived memory of Jacob Lawrence painting from his Migration series of artwork about the Northern migration of my ancestors.

OPEN SEAT

Johnny, Get back here now!
But…
But, nothing!

But, Um. Gramma.

Johnny. You heard me.      Now!
But, there’s a seat up there for you.

JOHNNY ….. We can’t sit there!


Gramma…………You’re tired.
You’ve been working all day for Ms. Daisy.

I know…………..We still can’t sit up there.

I’ll go sit up there and save you a seat. Okay?
Gramma, I’m going to sit up there if you don’t.

Oh my Lord! Johnny. You’re gonna get us into trouble.

Bus Ride Jacob Lawrence 22 Aug 22.jpg
Mo Daley

I love Johnny’s viewpoint in your poem. So innocent! You make me want to hug him.

Rachelle

The narration of the poem brings even more life to this painting. Thank you for sharing. Like Mo said, I just want to hug Johnny.

Tammi Belko

Low Tide in Maine

Crisp  evening  beckons

Us
To
explore

Amble into harbor

Feet 

S
I
N
K
 

D
E
E
P

Into mud

Air is fishy this time of day

crabs 

up

Are belly

Tammi Belko

Formatting isn’t exactly as I had hoped and for some reason can’t attached the picture.

Scott M

Tammi, even though your “formatting isn’t exactly as [you] hoped,” I really love how your “feet S / I / N / K / D / E / E / P / Into mud” works! Thanks for this!

Mo Daley

“Amble into harbor” sounds just wonderful. And that fishy air- I can practically smell it!

Rachelle

Living in Oregon, I feel like I can just picture (and smell) this scene. Even if the formatting isn’t perfect, I do like the how the “crabs / up / Are belly” turned out. It made me slow down and visualize the scene even more!

Jennifer Kowaczek

Margaret thank you so much for stretching my creativity today.

76B0B93E-C552-4E31-A925-60DBAC70FFA4.png
Jennifer Kowaczek

Poem typed out

How We Relax

My daughter Art
Drawing in ink
mistakes become features
Painting in water color
water mixed with acrylics
ART
calms
refocuses
expresses

Me Poetry
Writing in pencil
changing word choice
Scribing in my Ravenclaw journal
blue & silver ribbons marking my place
POETRY
calms
refocuses
expresses

Tammi Belko

Jennifer,

The spacing of your piece along with the repetition of “calms/refocuses/expresses” really does effectively convey the feeling of relaxation. Love this comparison of the two forms of art as well.

Mo Daley

I love your parallel stanzas that give us a glimpse into your creative worlds!

Stacey Joy

Margaret, this was fun! I had ideas this morning but ran out of time. Thank you for a fun challenge! I can’t seem to get the photo to be an acceptable resolution size to post. I hope when I hit “post” all the formatting doesn’t disappear.

Give Me Space

Social d   i    s    t    a   n   c    i     n    g
helped me feel safer
and
germs
f
a
r
awaaaaaaaaaay

Now we are back
to class
sittingsidebyside
Standing 
in linerightbehindoneanother
Yet cases
E
S
I

I choose to
remain masked indoors
and talk L O U D
and smile with my E   Y    E    S

©Stacey L. Joy, August 22, 2022

Stacey Joy

Cases RISE was originally showing the letters rising. Oh well. ?

Boxer

That’s so cool!! Man I wish I would have thought of that — I enjoyed how you summed up what teachers dealt with so smoothly! Nice work!

Jennifer Kowaczek

Stacey, this poem is beautiful!
I like how you used spacing to show the distancing and lack of… and the word Rise going up — nice!

Tammi Belko

Stacey — your poem really reflects the fears people still face with returning to school and the distance between us closing once again.
Love this image “and smile with my EYES”. Your spacing choices are perfect!

Anna J. Small ROSEBORO

Stacey, your poetry continues to show your passion for the profession and willingness to do what it takes to take care, stay safe, and keep teaching. THANKS SO MUCH!

Mo Daley

What a great poem for this prompt! We’ll done.

DeAnna C.

Stacey,
I really enjoyed your poem. How you spaced out the letters in distancing our wrote the words going down the page or up un the case of rise. It just set the tone for your wonderful poem.

Christine Baldiga

Margaret, Once again you’ve amazed me with your ability tp create mood with words – and lack of words (space). I slowed my breathing as I read.
Over the weekend I attended an outdoor concert honoring the works of Stephen Sondheim. One piece that especially captured my attention was “Sunday in the Park with George” from the musical of the same name. I wasn’t that familiar with the musical but searching online I discovered that the play explores the challenges of life and art as inspired by the art of George Seurat. I’ve always been drawn to Seurat’s use of pointillism in the masterpiece A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande and thought the call to choose a piece of art to transform into words was being made for me.

Slow  Sunday

walking  in  the  park

lazy   day

biding  time

nibbling

gossiping

standing

watching

on a        hot    summer       day
 
as George paints
 
dot
 
by
 
dot
 
by
 
dot

Christine Baldiga

attached formatted text…

Sunday.jpg
Tammi Belko

Christina — Love this poem! You’ve created a wonderfully lazy Sunday afternoon. I can totally see this scene unfolding with George painting “dot by dot.”

Mo Daley

Christine, your formatting is terrific. You’ve created a mood here!

Scott M

Christine, this is great! I love the stair stepping of your present participles “nibbling / gossiping / standing / watching” and the red lettering of your “hot.” Thanks for sharing your poem today!

Susan O

Thank you, Margaret, for these prompts the last two days. Delightful and just right to give my brain and observational skills a workout.

This one today is inspired by a watercolor painted by my daughter.

Green Apples

That lime    green    sour
color making my lips pucker
my teeth    tickle
waiting for the 
bite off
crunchy    flesh
apple
tartness     floating 
on a cloud    above
blue     neon lines
pretending to be   shadows
under    highlights of white
lines topping    each
as they tip  
one   another on its side
dancing   under the sun

IMG_6709.jpg
Tammi Belko

Susan — as I read this I can taste the tartness. My favorite lines: “tartness floating/on a cloud above/blue neon lines.”

Mo Daley

I puckered up as I read your poem, Susan. These are my favorite lines:
tartness    floating 
on a cloud   above
blue   neon lines
pretending to be  shadows

Glenda M. Funk

Susan,
The painting is gorgeous, and I notice how your poem replicates the spacing in the painting. Very cool. You’ve made me long for art and apples and their “crunchy flesh apple tartness.” ?

Mo Daley

the feather excited me 
so different 
from the usual 
bluejaymourningdoverobin 
larg 
er l 
ong 
er 
str 
ip 
ed 
 

barred 
owl 
flew overhead sight unseen 
but left me a treasure 

Barred Owl.PNG
Bill

I love the shape of the poem. It makes the words that much more compelling.

Tammi Belko

Mo — squishing the bird names all together “bluejaymourningdoverobin” was a great spacing choice as it felt like they were usual because they were all lumped together. It is amazing how spacing can convey so much.

Susan Ahlbrand

Margaret,
What a wonderful inspiration . . . mingling art with art. And thanks to your poem, I thought to look at my yoga class as art. Of course, yours is much more concise than mine. I love the line

Back and forth a tennis match with yourself.

and your formatting really adds to the depth of your poem.

Yin Yoga on Wednesday Evenings

The space saved my life . . . 
It’s called Fire Horse Yoga
in the upstairs of a rehabbed downtown building
that used to be a wainwright’s shop
Brick walls, the original wood floors,
three floor-to-ceiling westward-facing windows.

On the mat,
sometimes quiet is all that I seek
but the soothing voices
of Julia or Samantha
are always welcome.
Even their names are melodic
and calming

The opening meditation
while we are in easy pose
(which isn’t always so easy) 
always comes from a book–
Journey to the Heart
by Melody Beattie.
TO the heart.
not from or in or of
TO.
I learn from this practice
to get inTO my heart,
to listen TO it, 
to breathe inTO it,
to feel it.

Routinely, the instructors say
“Learn to be comfortable 
in the UNcomfortable”
I am prompted to relax 
and breathe
and sink into the pose.

After a variety of three-to-five-minute poses 
meant to get into the fascia rather than
the muscles,
it’s time for the part everyone craves.
“Deep stillness . . . deep surrender . . . Savasana”
permits me to just Be,
leave the fight-or-flight behind.

The instructor circles the studio 
with lavender oil on her palms,
coming to each person to wave the sent 
over our noses
and give a shoulder press
adding to the experience
of being in that space for Me.

To end,
I join with the other yogis
yearning for peace
and link our breaths
and chant an Om 
into the universe.

22 August 2022

Mo Daley

I want to join your class, Susan! You’ve captured savasana perfectly. I love what you did with TO and UN.

Cara Fortey

My 17 year-old son had major surgery last Thursday. I am his only caretaker. It has been a rough time. Thank you for this opportunity to use a little ekphrasis to process.

Pain

There     is something     about seeing
your child        in pain     that      HITS
          differently

No matter that this was expected
No matter that this was a choice

I can’t take it away and soothe
the way I want to or say the right thing
and make it okay it’s not…
but it will be soon I hope

Pain Graphic Art.jpeg
Cara Fortey

Frustrating that my spacing got largely cancelled out. 🙁

Ann Burg

Your helplessness and isolation is reflected in the spacing of your words, the power of capital letters to underscore the punch in the stomach and in the pep talk you give yourself even though it was expected. Even though it was a choice. I do hope all will be well with your son!

Margaret Simon

I’m a believer in using poetry to express your darkest feelings. It’s so hard to watch your own child in pain no matter what the cause is. What a wonderful piece of art to further express your helpless feeling.

Susan O

Cara, you say your spacing got cancelled out but I really like how the first stanza got spaced in a way that puts emphasis on the beat, the pounding of pain.

Christine Baldiga

As mothers we hang to and cling on hope. I sensed that writing this gave you that outlet you may have needed

Jennifer Kowaczek

Cara — my 13 year old will be having her wisdom teeth removed the Monday before Thanksgiving. I’m already preparing myself to feel just as you have described in your poem. Wishing you and your son well.

Rachelle

There is something so special about your relationship with your sons. It is really beautiful how you turned your pain into art. I hope he feels better soon and that you can get the rest you need too!

DeAnna C.

Cara,
A child in pain is so hard on the parent. We just want to ease it away, but that isn’t always easy. Hang strong momma bear, this was the right call.

Barb Edler

Midnight Madness and The Wolf Moon

wolf moon          moons    and    moons
a silvery path           across the silent river
its radiant heartbeat
harbored between the walnut tree and        forever             ever green
weaves a mystical siren song    a brilliant urgent     beat
I’m pulled beneath its undertow
carried away by its sweet, sweet serenade          
but then it fades
silenced behind dark shadows     and I ache
still
glowing

Barb Edler
22 August 2022

Moon (1).jpg
Barb Edler

Margaret, thanks for such a fun prompt. Some of my spacing disappeared, but at least I was able to post the photo I was responding to. I loved the opening of your poem: “Breathing is healing”. What a fantastic first line!

Boxer

Amazing vivid and enchanting!!

Margaret Simon

The spacing that did translate works well for this exercise in using space to communicate. The moon is a mystical siren song. Lovely imagery.

Susan O

Oh I love this! So many lines spoke to me…wolf moon, silvery, mystical siren, undertow, and the ache and glow that is left. Beautiful!

Glenda M. Funk

Barb,
Your poem is sublime. It evokes calm. The spacing slows the reading. “I’m pulled beneath its undertow.” Yes, I feel this. Gorgeous.

Maureen Y Ingram

My home is in the midst of a major construction/remodeling process; each day, I am awed by the hard work of so many.

This artwork from Jacob Lawrence’s Migration Series came to mind –

Jacob Lawrence Migration Series #4 

inv-s-ble 

inv-s-ble 
–u 

hit 
the 
nail  
on
the 
head
o
ver
o
ver
o
ver

a
gain

sweat work sweat work sweat work sweat
    hard hard hard

la bor  la bor  la bor

keep
keep
keep
on

inv-s-ble 
–u 

Barb Edler

Maureen, your poem is brilliant. I can feel the rhythm of all that hard work, the hammer pounding, and that constant labor to rebuild. Outstanding!

Ann Burg

This is great! A real marriage of form and meaning. Love how you capture the rhythm of the hammer – pound and release. O/ver. O/ver. Really enjoyed this poem!

Margaret Simon

What a great poem using spacing as well as a concrete image of a hammer to express yourself.

Christine Baldiga

It’s as if the tools are pounding along with the words. Brilliant

Glenda M. Funk

Maureen,
I love the way your poem honors the invisible, repetitive work of those who labor and build things. The word placement forces the reader to “labor” as we read. Wonderful poem.

Denise Krebs

Thank you, Margaret, I hadn’t really tried this kind of poem for a long time, so I enjoyed the process. I’m thinking mountain bike riding is a creative practice, especially on each of these unique, sandy, and hilly spaces I ride. And yes, I did take that upside down tumble recently (without dire consequences, praise God)

biking.gif
Margaret Simon

This looks like it was a fun process. Love the effect of the upside down words. Glad you are OK.

Kevin Hodgson

Nicely done …. repeat repeat repeat

Maureen Y Ingram

Denise, bravo to you for mountain bike riding! Love the upside down tumbles of your words here – and that you have not been hurt badly.

Barb Edler

Wow, Denise, I am so impressed with your poem and formatting. The upside down words are perfect for head over heals. Brilliant!

Christine Baldiga

Masterful in form, shape, and word choice! I love the upside down last line – and yes hoping you stay upright too! Thanks for the inspiration

Jennifer Kowaczek

Denise this is a wonderfully executed poem. I have not figured out how to make my text move that way (upside down head over heels).

Glenda M. Funk

Denise,
This is so much fun. The last line is my favorite. Love, Love, Love the upside down words.

I haven’t been on my bike in several years. I fell and landed in PT in 2019. I only ride my spin bike these days, but on Sept 2 I’ll be riding the Hiawatha Trail. Should be fun!

Boxer Moon

Thank you, Margaret, for a wonderful prompt. You poem inspired my thoughts on education today. I appreciate all the prompts and wonderful poems this week. All the posts are creative and inspirational. Thanks again!
 
 
The Revealing Tune of a Whippoorwill  
 
Have you heard the whippoorwill by moonlight?
-Melodic, inspiring creative flight?
 
Can you master the brightness of a dim light?
All dark- awaiting entry of mental might!

Located in rows by four,
Four across and four more.

Stale, brick ten by ten,
Sixteen long ‘til the corner ends,
Back around sixteen more,
Entrapping all in the four by four.

“Be creative under needled tile,
Inspire them all with artisan style.”

Challenging to say the least,
Motivated! I become the imaginative beast.
Rainbows, stars, unicorns, and candy,
Monsters, bigfoot, and ice cream- “come in” handy.
Anything and everything I must use,
Doesn’t matter ….. light their fuse!

I now become their number one source,
 Chameleon-like, guiding their course.

     Each                  mind             sits        alone
Nervously,         gripping           their       Cellphone.

Creative         Depressed           Poor                    Aggressive
Excited            Delighted             Rich                    Obsessive
Hungry                 Tired               Free                    Confused
Anxious                 Wild                Pet                     Abused

Boxed in, for almost a year,
The only escape is what I give them to hear.

 Worlds before and beyond,
Gilgamesh with a Harry Potter wand.
China and Timbuktu,
We will visit the whole world, before we are through.
Tucked in our little enclosure,
Spiritual travel with inventive exposure!
                               
                                             I

Stand                 center              of the                     room
Intrigued              as                 blossoms               bloom 
All                         are                 unique                    to be
Smaller                 versions          of  you                 and

                                         Me!

As I pray upon the stone of Socratic belief,
I hear distant song of whippoorwill’s motif.
It refines note after note,
Repetitive melodies vibrant in his throat.
Philosophizing nature with passionate art,
I am mesmerized by the ending to the start.
I meditate by echoes of the whippoorwill,
Focused, deep, enriching my teaching skill.
Keen on motivating the unmotivated,
Probing thoughts to be escalated.
Grant me courage to proceed,
Let me learn your song, to meet their needs.
Gracious challenge of my small square,
Reveal the potential of each sitting in their chair.

The tune plays over and over again,
A teaching song that begins with the end.

                    And…….

Though the bird sings free in the pines,
I freely sing to unlock their minds….

Boxer

Kevin Hodgson

Ah
Lovely last two lines:

Though the bird sings free in the pines,
I freely sing to unlock their minds”

Kevin

Maureen Y Ingram

There is so much wisdom about teaching woven in here! A great poem to begin the year. I admire the 4 row x 4 columns ‘stanzas’ – I envision the classroom, students sitting in their neat rows. Your poem exudes your love for teaching, especially with this line, “I am mesmerized by the ending to the start.”

Barb Edler

Boxer, wow, your poem is provocative. I love the connection between birdsong and motivation. Your last line says it all! Well played!

Margaret Simon

Such an important job to unlock minds. We all need courage to do the work that we do, day in and day out, whether or not the students are willing or resistant.

Scott M

ICan’t(orRather)Won’t

it’s hard enough to
(actively)
navigate the words
onthepage
to figure out
where to split the
line
where to enjamb
the senti-
ment
but now I need
to think about
(to cultivate even)
the spaces between the words
and lines

I refuse

did you know that
on a subatomic level
the space between this word
and the next
between these letters
and the next
is nearly infinite

I must rely on faith
or experience
or both

on the hope 
that 
another
word 
another 
letter
will 
(unbidden)
follow the last
and proceed 
the next
will
(instinctively,
intuitively,
without
overt
guidance)
bridge the gap 
between
words and meaning
between 
thought and
understanding

between
You
and
Me

____________________________________________________

Margaret, I love this examination of the spaces between the words that you have for us today!  And I love – my default position, it seems – to “reject” the “play” of the prompt (while all the while “playing” with the prompt). This was fun.  And I added my picture to show that I oftentimes do, indeed, utilize various spacing techniques when drafting my poems.  And, if you look closely, you can see the “bleed through” of the rabbit-duck drawing that I did for yesterday’s poem. Lol.

Screenshot 2022-08-22 12.02.36 PM.png
Kevin Hodgson

faith and hope … this is what centers your poem for me
Kevin

Maureen Y Ingram

Scott, I love how you played with space here! “Bridge the gap,” indeed. It is meditational to think on “infinite” space between letters…love that.

Barb Edler

Scott, I agree with so many of your lines, especially placing the enjambment in a poem. This poem is just so you. Absolutely adored your ending and the focus of the separation between the writer and audience. Let words be unbidden! Terrific response!

Margaret Simon

I often rely on faith to lead me through a poem. I rarely feel it’s me doing it. I’m glad, even though you say you resist the prompt, you actually worked with it, like molding a piece of playdough.

Nancy White

Thanks again, Margaret, for another very thought provoking prompt. Your yoga poem made me feel like I was right there breathing with you.

My sister Susan J. Osborn of this group is a renowned San Diego artist. I have one of her mixed media works hanging in my living room. I must say she greatly inspires me and this painting brightens my day, every day. 

Susan’s Painting
By Nancy White

Cloudy teal sky
Then dark
Light        dark
       Light       dark
Light        dark
Ribbons of pure gold, golden sunlight,
Textured shadows of trees and shrubs
The myriad greens, yellows, rich umbers
Bold         muted
Bold
My eyes dart
    back        
            and 
forth
     finally resting
on the 
terracotta clay
where all is grounded.
All is well.

C9B83D9B-BD32-4473-851A-991E1AD6E51C.jpeg
Kevin Hodgson

It’s great that art by your sister inspired your art today .. what a lovely connection.
Kevin

Maureen Y Ingram

Nancy, I love learning that you and Susan are sisters!! What a creative family! The painting is gorgeous, and I love your poetic, repetitive descriptions of light and dark, with “Ribbons of pure gold, golden sunlight”…your words, like the painting, are just gorgeous, too.

Barb Edler

Linda, first of all, wow, what a gorgeous painting. I love the movement you create through your words, and how you lead us to that final resting place where “All is well.” Loved it!

Margaret Simon

Your words direct us through your thoughts into this beautiful yellow work of art. Then to terracotta, where we are grounded. Lovely. You should do more ekphrasis with her art, a wonderful conversation.

Fran Haley

This is gorgeous, Nancy – your poem, with its movement and repetitions, so vibrantly creating your sister’s artwork in our minds! And her painting is gorgeous also. I would have known that without seeing it, just from your words. What artists you both are – magnificent.

Ann Burg

I think I may have to start every day with your poem: one focus. one breath. A lovely poem and a great way to start the day. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to make sense of this but thoughts about spacing actually helped with a poem I’ve been trying to write. Thanks for the opportunity to shake things up.

This Time

I will carve a cave

hidden with vines

thicker than kudzu.

Safe inside, 

I will 

seal the cracks,

gather 

~f~
  ~r~
    ~ a~
       ~y~
       
~e~          ~d~
s. t. r. a . n. d. s.

a.n.d.

s.t.i.t.c.h. 

a seamless 

sack

for my 

tattered 

soul. 

Ann Burg

well, the formatting didn’t stay. I took a screen shot, but don’t really know how to paste!

Kevin Hodgson

Carving Caves! Ah. That’s such a cool concept … and then you veer us inward …
Kevin

Maureen Y Ingram

I think the spacing and formatting above is just lovely. I am fascinated by working with ‘frayed strands” [all the spacing and periods herein are truly clever] and then stitching these seamlessly…just what all our tattered souls need to do.

Barb Edler

Ann, oh my, you have captured every emotion I feel. The creating a cave image to stitching a “seamless/sack/for my/tattered/soul” is exquisite, moving, and beautiful. Awestruck!

Margaret Simon

I am envisioning a cocoon, a safe place to rest and become something new, resurrected.

Glenda M. Funk

Ann,
This is gorgeous, both in appearance and in sound and meaning. I love the idea of self-care your words evoke. The visual stitching and fraying is genius, I’m in awe!!

Begin where your eyes land lean in to witness
strings binding lucky Rabbit’s foot to Skunk’s heart
making puppets of coyote paws pulling past’s strings

then pause within this paper landscape pause to ponder
Buffalo kites beside tethered Lady saluting
in sacred headdress roping Cowboy’s balls as guns flare

Rabbit and Coyote revisioning history from their backs
holding the reigns of the future

Julie Buffalohead: The Stampede, 2014, acrylic, ink, and pencil on lotka paper;


Julie.jpg
Glenda M. Funk

Sarah,
I love this painting and your poem, especially the line:
Rabbit and Coyote revisioning history from their backs
holding the reigns of the future”
This pairs so we’ll w/ where my mind is this morning. And “pulling past’s strings” is exactly what we are witnessing these days.

Barb Edler

Sarah, I absolutely love “in sacred headdress roping Cowboy’s balls as guns flare”. What a unique line, but also one that creates a lot of emotion and imagined pain. The picture is mesmerizing, and I love that you shared this today. This would be a perfect opening for Coyote and Trickster tales. Sensational poem!

Glenda M. Funk

As school starts, and even though I’m retired, I’ve thought much about all teachers are now prohibited to teach. This tragedy must not be allowed to ho unchallenged. I see both visual art and poetry as ways to challenge these efforts to erase history. They are acts of memory.

Historical Occlusion

they have 
cut out—-trimmed—-excised——
rent—-ripped—-siphoned—-
removed—-plucked
         

          history from

the curriculum—

not the way 
cut canvass of
Contour of Loss 
makes visible 
Black babies 
excised from 
Black mothers 
a
r
m
s
left to
cradle 
contoured 
shadows of 
their lost child 

Glenda Funk
August 22, 2022

*A link to Titus Kaphar’s “Contour of Loss.” https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/848286

Ann Burg

wow…this poem is wonderful. I am a big believer in breaking large numbers into the smallest common denominator, not in the math sense, but in the human sense. Your social commentary is distilled to the contoured shadows of a mother and child. Left to cradle countered shadows of their lost child…such a striking image. Love this poem.

Maureen Y Ingram

Excellent painting choice, Glenda – so thought-provoking, so perfect a pairing with your poetic exploration of what teachers are prohibited to teach. Yes, these prohibitions are virtually erasing students from the classroom –

cut out—-trimmed—-excised——

rent—-ripped—-siphoned—-

removed—-plucked

Those double-dashes are like stitchwork…covering up the omissions… powerful.

Barb Edler

Glenda, what an incredibly moving poem! Oh, my heart aches with your words and the imagery of “left to
cradle 
contoured 
shadows of 
their lost child”

I am deeply moved. Thanks for sharing your powerful poetry and the link to this image!

Susan O

Glenda, this is a great comparison of excised babies and cut out curriculum! I really admire how you used the letters of arms in a downward line to really feel cut up. I was not aware of this painting and I thank you for showing it to me.

Wendy Everard

Thank you , Margaret, for this unique prompt! The spacing in your yoga poem is perfect, allowing for those spaces to breathe.
This summer, I attended an impactful lecture by Reverend Dr. Louis De Caro, a scholar of John Brown;; my poem was culled from notes on his lecture, which was, indeed, a piece of art:

“John Brown”
(with thanks to Reverend Dr. Louis De Caro)

Put to the margin 
of history:
The guy who had the

KICK ME

sign
placed on his back.

With a plan
and 
Boots
On
The 
Ground,
A Man of Action.

A lone wolf.
A careful student
Of the political landscape.

    arm..
his
“When John Brown lifted

…the sky was cleared,” said Douglass.

He knew the:
A Players
B Players
C Players

of the Resistance Movement.

Douglass said:
I could live for the slave,
But
John Brown could die for the slave.

Defending his actions,
Brown said:
“Upon the Golden Rule
I pity the poor [[in bondage]] 
that have 
None to Help them.”

Screen Shot 2022-08-22 at 8.48.10 AM.png
Wendy Everard

Note: The spacing really didn’t translate, so best to look at the attachment. 🙂

Kim Johnson

Margaret, this yoga class sounds like just what I need this morning. To breathe. To be in alignment with the inhalations, exhalations of the universe. What a gift of inner balance. Your poem brings words to that feeling – one focus, an anchor. Thanks for hosting us this week with two fabulous prompts! In my kitchen hangs a white framed picture of a rolling pin drawn on notebook paper with colored pencil. It’s there alongside the framed picture of generations of handwritten recipes by people in my family. Cooking together was far more important back in the day, and one thing I wish is that I had learned to make biscuits as well as they did.

In This Kitchen

loop an apron over shoulders tie it in back
lift down her old bowl pour buttermilk
sift and grind pour and squeeze
hand mix knead pour
feel knead pour feel knead
sprinkle flour plop roll push
roll smooth cut cut cut bake
smell the spirits of loved ones once gone now here
in this kitchen

Jennifer A Guyor-Jowett

Kim, you’ve captured the rhythm of baking through the repetition (so much repetition involved in rolling and kneading) of words. It feels meditative. Contemplative. I can feel the push and pull of the rolling pin and the motion of the hands. The lack of capitalization and punctuation emphasize the simplicity of the process – nicely chosen!

Linda Mitchell

Oh, I miss my grandmothers so much…love how this poem lets me know that they are there with me.

Margaret Simon

Your poem with its rhythmic sound of “feel kneed pour knead…” places me right beside you practicing passed down baking traditions.

Kim,

I love the mantra and rhythm of this sacred making. The hands that do this work are guided by “spirits of loved ones” giving this beautiful almost unphysical ritual a deep connection to the past “her” that lives in this moment. Thank you for this poem.

Peace,
Sarah

Nancy White

Kim, your poem made me teary when I read “smell the spirits of loved ones once gone now here
in this kitchen”
Oh, how I remember the smells of cooking in my mom’s kitchen. And the soft steady rhythm of “hand mix knead pour
feel knead pour feel knead
sprinkle flour plop roll push
roll smooth cut cut cut bake” made me see all the hard work of cooking and the cadence caused me to remember my mom pounding the more tough grade of beef on the counter to make Swiss steak.
I love this.

Fran Haley

I love your recipe/cooking/memory poems, Kim. The spirits of those who cooked with these things before you are near…I once read of a woman cleaning her house for Passover when she suddenly had a sense of herself in the lineup of all the women who had done these things before her, for hundreds of years. The connection is real. I have a sense of that with this poem, seeing you and your previous generations, all connected. The verbs really draw the reader in – I feel the cloth of the apron, the dough, and the warmth of presence.

Jennifer A Guyor-Jowett

Margaret, we have been talking white space of late so the timing of your prompt is perfect! I’m grateful for the mind provocation of playing with space and punctuation and discovering a new artist. First day back today…

Would you

start this year again
if you knew
the endless
d
r
a
I
n
I
n

feeling
you’d carry?

Would you  

Erika Victor

Ooof, I feel every bit of this poem! The spacing does so much here.

Linda Mitchell

Oh, my. What a wonderful use of white space. I really need to explore this more. The way you spread out each letter and slow my reading down to the speed of a slow draining…well, it’s perfect.

Margaret Simon

The downward feel of draining is effective.

Kimberly Haynes Johnson

Amen and amen and amen, Jennifer! The draining feeling is a tired but good one – I like how you stretched out the word, rawther like a yawn…….a long, long, sigh. I think it’s like exercise – – sore muscles, but a good sore feeling, not like a pulled muscle. Teaching draining is a good tired….until you want to get up and go do something in the evening, then it’s a too-tired tired. I would.

Wendy Everard

Jennifer,
Your spacing was perfect: so effective! And love the single line at the end. 🙂

Oh, Jennifer!

What wonderful use of whitespace here to draw our eyes down the “draining” until we have almost nothing left for the final lines. I also find it incredibly telling that there is no punctuation mark at the end. Hmmm.

Back-to-school hugs!

Peace,
Sarah

Nancy White

Ohhh Jennifer. The first week can be so difficult. Then the second and third. It all falls into a rhythm. Indeed, it can all be so draining. I identify with your word “endless”. I was over the moon when offered an early retirement. I hope all those still teaching find balance and restful times amidst the busy-ness. Blessings to all of you teachers. You matter more than you may realize.

Fran Haley

I am so feeling this poem, Jennifer – you have captured that too-true word SO. WELL. And preceded by “endless” – that is exactly how it feels. There comes an exhaustion that defies description. I feel it all in these few words!!

Anna

Jennifer, your poem creates in own picture with the way you dripped draining! Thanks for showing how layout can enhance the message of a poem.

Scott M

Jennifer, good question! (As everyone else, I love the dripping of “d / r / a / I / n / I / n / g” down the page. And I’m interested in the upper casing of the “i”s in draining.) I hope you had a good first day today!

Fran Haley

Margaret, what a breathtaking challenge. You’ve flung the door to creativity wide open here; I find myself standing on the portal with my mouth agape in awe. Poetry is sound – here you draw us in to the rhythms beyond yoga class, to deep listening and life and spirit. Your poem is like a blanket of peace, rippling in the wind and settling easy over the reader. Thank you for this amazing offering today.

I’m a fan of Van Gogh and recently attended an immersive experience. That’s where my mind immediately went…the last two lines of my poem are Van Gogh’s own words, written in a letter to his brother Theo, referencing other artists who were known for painting specific flowers. The title comes from Van Gogh’s friend Gaugin, who loved the sunflower paintings in a time when many artists thought they were too rustic a subject. Newly-invented pigments of yellow oil paint enabled Van Gogh to experiment and innovate. Another friend planted sunflowers on his grave.

“Completely Vincent”
for Van Gogh, painting sunflowers for Gaugin

Yellow
and yellow
thirty shades 
of yellow
new
alive
wilting
dying
returning
with faces
forever turning
toward the sun
light shining
in darkness
returning
returning thanks
for my friend
for the beauty
of these flowers
growing in
wild array 
by the paths
I walk 
day by day
I offer them
to you, 
my friend
can you see
in my oil-bouquet
all the shades
of gratitude
so much
I cannot even say
whether it’s still 
in me to pray
be that as it may
today
today
I have the sunflower
in a way

Jennifer A Guyor-Jowett

Fran, your poem grows and cycles just as the sunflower does (returning and returning). The long, linear height reminds me of the sunflower stem (strong, tall, sturdy) – words that boost up that ray of sunshine. And your rhyme/rhythm built as it went along, growing stronger – I love how all of this connects to the sunflower so naturally.

Linda Mitchell

Love those thirty shades of yellow and all the meanings from new to dying and how the painting gives you sunflowers…in a way. What a joy to read this poem. It’s a keeper!

Fran Haley

Thank you so much, Linda – those last lines are Van Gogh’s taken from a letter to his brother: “You know that Jeannin has the peony, Quost has the hollyhock, but I have the sunflower, in a way.”

Kimberly Haynes Johnson

Fran, I can see the immersive paintings on the wall, sitting on the floor, mesmerized by the images that appear and morph into different ones, so unexpectedly. The way you’ve written this feels a lot like you’re in a meadow, each stem of a line a flower and at the end you hand us a bouquet. A prayer bouquet for when there are no words…..just the heart and soul of a prayerful feeling.

Nancy White

Fran, I went to the immersive Van Gogh Experience also. Your poem made me feel the sunflowers surround me. Love your repetition of “yellow”. So touching that his friend Gaugin appreciated the sunflower paintings with their many shades of yellow and their cycles of life.

Linda Mitchell

What a cool prompt. Thanks, Margaret! Your use of spacing reminds me of lungs…paired and intentional of purpose. I went traipsing off to wikiart.org and let my eyes wander until they stuck to something. I would love to write pretty, happy poetry…I seem to be in a darker mode these days. Really, I’m not unhappy–it’s my first day of school with students today and I am excited for the new year.

In medieval times
people believed that
epidemics were
caused by the
influence of the stars.
Can you imagine?
You are well until
the universe decides
otherwise.

The year I was born
a painter half a world away
titled his latest work—Unstable Balance
which might be
the reason I slow to stop
taking in its line,
light, shadow, whimsy
of colors against
a miasma of gray.
Unstable indeed, I think.

We are both alive
—this painter and I
dodging bullets of pandemic
rising authoritarianism, wars
and wheat prices
as stars above us
collapse into themselves
unable to focus
on either keeping us well
or bringing us home.

Fran Haley

Linda, I remember reading of a solar eclipse coinciding with the death of Queen Anne, wife of Richard III, and the subsequent fear of the people as to what it portended. I think there’s some debate about the accuracy now – but this and so much more does make us wonder what is written in the stars. Fascinating how you link the painter, painting, year of your birth, and the world as we know it. I love this.

Jennifer A Guyor-Jowett

Wow, Linda! This is beautifully thought-provoking. I love how you set us up with the history, add your connection, and then combine the two in the last stanza – it’s masterful! The image of the stars collapsing into themselves in their inability to focus feels like what’s happening – an entire collapse of the universe. Powerful stuff here.

Kimberly Haynes Johnson

Linda, imagine that! The stars as the deciders of fate in a universe of wellness. This is very prophetic and deep – it makes me think. Interesting that you and the artist are both still alive and well and dodging the stars and their unique coded alignments of keeping you well or bringing you home. I will have to google that painting. How clever, what you have done here today. The authoritarianism is far more alarming than the pandemic.

Kevin Hodgson

Snap Snap Snap Snap
Step Step Step

Snare drum crackling on translucent skin
the fife band gathers where the streets begin
the drummer raises stick in her leather gloved hand
then they step out as one, as syncopated band

Snap Snap Snap
Step Step Step Step

(note: we recently saw a fife band marching through a city we were visiting, so I was trying to capture the drum in the form of the poem … )
Kevin

Kevin Hodgson

pic (slightly better formatting)

Screen Shot 2022-08-22 at 5.56.18 AM.png
Linda Mitchell

ooooooh! love that spacing and concrete look of this poem.

Anna

Your picture does in two ways, Kevin. We can almost see the footprints marching across the page. Clever spacing!

Jennifer A Guyor-Jowett

Kevin, the short snappy, ratatatty intro and exit to your poem remind me that we hear bands coming and leaving before and after (and far longer) than we see them. It also sets the rhythm for those centered words.

Kevin Hodgson

ratatatatty … is a word I want to hear all day

Fran Haley

I feel the timing and rhythm – perfect – and my eyes fall right into it in the screenshot as well. I can hear the cracking of that drum. So sensory.

Margaret Simon

It’s tough to write a syncopated rhythm, but you’ve made it work here. I can hear it in “then they step out as one, as syncopated band” Snap, Snap. I’m glad you chose the creative work of music this morning.

Kimberly Haynes Johnson

And capture the drum you did! Love the rhyme and beat….I can hear the band playing through the streets!