Welcome to Day 3 of the November 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.
Our Hosts
Kim Johnson, Ed.D., lives in Williamson, Georgia, where she serves as District Literacy Specialist for Pike County Schools. She enjoys writing, reading, traveling,camping, and spending time with her husband and three rescue schnoodles – Boo Radley (TKAM), Fitz (F. Scott Fitzgerald), and Ollie (Mary Oliver). You can follow her blog, Common Threads: patchwork prose and verse, at www.kimhaynesjohnson.com.
Kyle Vaughn is the author of Calamity Gospel (forthcoming from Cerasus Poetry, 2023), The Alpinist Searches Lonely Places (Belle Point Press, 2022), and Lightning Paths: 75 Poetry Writing Exercises (NCTE Books, 2018), and is the co-author/co-photographer of A New Light in Kalighat (American Councils for International Education, 2013). His poems have appeared in journals such as The Journal, A-Minor, The Boiler, Drunken Boat, Poetry East, Vinyl, the museum of americana (2022 Best of the Net nomination), and The Shore (2021 Pushcart Prize nomination). He teaches English and is the Director of the Writing Center at Pulaski Academy in Little Rock, Arkansas. Find him at www.kylevaughn.org / twitter: @krv75 / insta: @kylev75
Inspiration
In his book Lightning Paths: 75 Poetry Writing Exercises, Kyle Vaughn’s resources are rich and plentiful for exploring various forms of poetry. I began exploring Vaughn’s website in more depth and discovered his website, where I discovered his exercise Unphotographed. I began thinking of all the ways I use photos to inspire poetry…..and Vaughn reshaped my thinking about all the photographs not taken.
Process
To sharpen descriptive techniques and synesthesia in writing, consider a moment etched in your memory for which there is no photograph. Use sensory details to capture the photograph that doesn’t yet exist – – and breathe snapshot life into a picture of words. Write an unphotographed moment, from corner to corner, whether Polaroid, black and white, sepia, digital, 35 mm with or without filters……whatever the effect. Step into the frame. Take our hands. Bring us to your moment.
Kim’s Poem
Unphotographed Grief
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.
Forgot to post this yesterday
Wisdom Teeth
You look so brave as I leave the room —
Seventy-four minutes later,
groggy and unsteady on your feet,
we get you in the car.
”When will they start?” you ask,
white gauze stuck in your cheeks.
Ice pack held to one side,
phone set on record,
you can’t stop talking,
fingers flying to finger spell
what I don’t understand.
Home now-
wrapped up in a favorite blanket,
eyes closed,
cheeks puffy,
recovery begins.
My 13-year-old daughter had her wisdom teeth removed. This after six weeks of trauma care to her teeth due to an accident in September. She’s been through so much and just keeps on moving forward.
Thank you, Kim, for the challenge of capturing the moment in words.
An unphotographed view
A vast, soft foam
clustered cotton wool balls of delight,
with shimmer peeking from behind.
A quiet outline
that covers us like a pure white,
creased trampoline.
The vast covering
shields us
Within the shape
appears this figure,
something familiar
that one cannot guess
what it exactly is
Adorns our skies
and is forever magnificent.
What perfect imagery, Juliette! It hits like a snowstorm.
This gives me such a floaty feeling when I read it. I love the line “covers us like a pure white, / creased trampoline.” You know those “a-ha” moments? I don’t know what it’s called, but it’s like that only when I read something someone else wrote that just makes me think, “Gees! How on earth did they ever come up with that?!” I suppose it’s a bit of jealousy! : ) Lovely imagery throughout, indeed.
Kim thank you again for this wonderful prompt. I let this one marinate all day.
Library View
Good mornings having been exchanged
Attendance having been submitted
Opaque white glass catches my eye again
Bits of color from outside come into focus
Vibrant reds, deep orange, sunny yellow
Mix and mingle with the remaining greens
Next off in the distance the mountains raise to meet the sky
White patches of last season’s snow can still be seen
The outdoors is calling my name
Oh wait that is just someone asking to use the pass
Back to reality, lucky to be able to enjoy the best view Oregon fall has to offer
DeAnna,
The view out our school windows are pretty similar, and I never tire of the view. You captured it well. Now, if only the kids would hush and let us enjoy it. 😉
I love the view from our windows at school, and the library’s is immaculate. Thanks for transporting me there for a moment!
I’m so jealous of this view. You make it seem so easy to get lost in that view until reality jars you back into place.
DeAnna, how sweet! I love the fall colors description in the first stanza. As we read, we are lost from reality with you. Then the funny turn of the outdoors/student calling your name!
Parent-Teacher Conferences
by Mo Daley 11/ 21/22
I sit in my rolly chair
in my pretty blue blouse
and too-tight stretchy pants
waiting for you to log into Zoom
Did you know you signed up for two slots?
I sneakily grade a few assignments as I wait for the ding
alerting me to your presence,
but it doesn’t come,
allowing me to glance at my teeth in the camera
one last time,
making sure there is no broccoli
for your viewing displeasure
Mo,
Zoom meetings where the student or parent do not show really are no fun. However I love this poem offers a glimpse of how one passes their wait time.
Mo, you have captured the moment so clearly. There is so much honesty here. Glancing at your teeth, we do that sometimes unawares, but sharing it makes this image real.
I laughed out loud at the “too-tight stretchy pants.” Heck yeah! That’s the Zoom truth about what we wear! And this so nicely captures that time I’m sure many of us have spent waiting from an appointment to show up on Zoom. Waiting for that ding like Palov’s dog, only to be stood up. Checking our hair (or teeth) or whatever for someone who won’t even be there. Been there, done that – too many times.
Oh, Mo, you have captured this chapter of parent-teacher conferences so well. So funny! I love your outfit. The pretty blue blouse is the only one that mattered back then. (Although, our school kept doing conferences online after the pandemic; that was one serious improvement from the way we used to do them!)
This was a prompt that caused me to marinate most of the day. Thank you for the impetus, it nudged my mind back to many years ago. Even after hours of thought, I came back to this view from when I was in fourth grade.
Unphotographed View
Unmoored,
that’s how it felt
in a new town living
on a rural highway.
So I’d sit on the couch
looking out the big window
and memorize the trees
across the yard
over the wooden bridge
past the meandering creek
up the gravel drive
jumping over the highway
and up the steep hill
with pine trees clinging
to the slope
in a thick bed of
ferns,
poison oak,
cushiony-sharp fallen needles,
and paint the scene
in my mind’s eye.
Even still,
decades later,
if I were an artist,
I could paint a
perfect picture
from out of that window.
Wow Cara,
I can just picture your unphotographed view. I am able to enjoy your view for your window.
Cara, this “photo” is clear and vivid. Your first word set the tone for the piece. I love the language you used here to describe the trees. I especially like “jumping over the highway”
This is lovely, Cara. The idea of memorizing the trees is beautiful and sad at the same time.
Oh, that unmoored fourth grader, my heart feels for her. What a beautiful description out this picturesque window. I love all the details you have filled in with prepositional phrases. Beautiful.
According to Toni Morrison’s Beloved character Sethe, “I mean, even if I don’t think it, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.”* I think Sethe got it right,
And my white-haired
grandpa in
his Roundhouse
blue and white striped
overalls
is there plain
as day
among the
hardened
rows his
own plow had made.
We find the
goose, its white
feathers move without will
in the wind.
With a simple
pocket knife
grandpa opens
the underside of
the goose to
examine its last
meal, undigested,
unharvested peanuts.
Maybe it was the
peanuts,
maybe poison,
maybe a life
well-lived,
but there
is a reason
the goose died
and we are
there to find out.
*Morrison, Toni. Beloved (Vintage International) (p. 43). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
What a beautiful line to connect with this prompt, Katrina. And so so true! I love your imagery here. The “white / feathers move without will / in the wind.” Oh my gosh, I could both see that and feel that breeze rustling through. I also like the white-hair and the white feathers together. I could just see this as a painting with those white spaces that draw our attention. The absolute certainty of “we are / there to find out.” is a solid end but at the same time, I’m curious to know! What a great way to leave it.
Katrina, this is a powerful poem, such realism and beauty. It reminds me of a painting.
Kim, your poem was with me all day. The imagery, vivid and somber, painted the picture and told your story so well. The inspiration for my poem was a moment I had during independent reading time today, which I do for 10-15 minutes each day in my English 12 classes.
Open Swim
I scan 244
like a lifeguard overseeing
their pool
the room, though silent, is
filled with thirty readers
whose books represent
their individuality
and each word on each
page matters
someone ruffles a leaf
another sniffles their nose
a shifting of weight
satisfaction busts from
my lips, curving them
upwards. I take a
deep breath
and dive back
into my own
story
Rachelle,
I love your metaphor of lifeguarding all those readers. I really like how you made the sounds come alive with the ruffling leaf, the sniffles, and the shifting. You really create a vivid image. 🙂
Rachelle,
Lifeguarding readers what a fun way to look at being an English teacher!! I love how the sounds add depth to the silent “pool”.
Indeed – a superb metaphor! (Can’t help but think of Cheever and “The Swimmer” – though not at all related here!) My favorite line is “satisfaction busts from / my lips, curving them / upwards.” This is indeed the best self-kindness we can recognize – when we have done our jobs well and can savor a moment of seeing it all working just as it should. Oh so rare (not that it happens at all, but that we take that moment to recognize it), but so beautifully captured here.
Kim, your poem is so poignant, capturing a vivid picture of grief. I am awed by the physical layout of each stanza, which slowed my reading and left me immersed in the grief you described. The lines where her whispers linger/screams/laughs/cries – oh, wow, that is so intense. So perceptive!!
I’m sorry I missed the first days of poetry prompts; I just returned from a retreat. I’m excited to participate today! My photo image is one from my weekend –
in the darkness
circle of women
enfolded in darkness
mesmerized by stars of all sizes
layer upon layer upon layer
shining dazzling whispering
against the blue black beauty
of the night sky
Maureen, thank you for sharing this serene image with us today, and I hope your retreat was restorative. The line “shining dazzling whispering” sticks out to me today. I love the concept of stars whispering.
Maureen, your words clearly show your image. The imagery makes this captivating,”… against the blue black beauty of the night sky.”
Maureen,
Each time you write about your retreats, I’m both awed and inspired. The image of wo
en encircled evokes a notion of strength and purpose against the dark sky. I know you had a stellar time!
Kim, thank you for your user-friendly prompts this week and for introducing us to Kyle Vaughn.
According to Toni Morrison’s Beloved character Sethe, “I mean, even if I don’t think it, even if I die, the picture of what I did, or knew, or saw is still out there. Right in the place where it happened.” I think Sethe got it right,
And my white-haired
grandpa in
his Roundhouse
blue and white striped
overalls
is there plain
as day
among the
hardened
rows his
own plow had made.
We find the
goose, its white
feathers move without will
in the wind.
With a simple
pocket knife
grandpa opens
the underside of
the goose to
examine its last
meal, undigested,
unharvested peanuts.
Maybe it was the
peanuts,
maybe poison,
maybe a life
well-lived,
but there
is a reason
the goose died
and we are
there to find out.
Morrison, Toni. Beloved (Vintage International) (p. 43). Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group. Kindle Edition.
Wow, Katrina, what a moment. Beloved is one of my favorite books, and I love that you included that today. The line “maybe a life / well-lived” in your last stanza stood out to me today. Thank you for sharing.
Kim, such a tough poem, yet necessary. I don’t handle grief well, I’m not sure who does. But these lines “teary eyes fixed on your shoe
on anything
on nothing” reminds me of the final months of my husband’s grandmother. She made it to 100, but she lived until about 95. Her body was just a shell and as I visited her the last few times, I looked at the many pictures of family, whose souls and smiles were etched forever. Thank you for sharing! Here is mine.
Kodak Moment of Truth
Summer after graduation,
bored (not a good sign).
Buried in the linen closet in plain sight
high above the average height,
squeaky wooden doors open without care.
Dust flutters, a chore put off too long.
That linen closet smell,
stale and fresh coincide.
Squeaky camo green box with a lock,
unsecured.
No one is home to catch me.
Digging for something else,
uncovering papers: important looking.
Skimming, my eye caught and
my hands trembled
To read with intention.
Neatly refolding the paper, quickly
so no tears will stain.
Words remembered
As my tears bleed a rainbow of emotions
And I say to myself out loud as confirmation,
“My parents have been divorced since February?!”
oh my! I have no doubt that is a picture you cannot forget. I am struck by these lines,
and how they foreshadow the ‘stale and fresh’ of your sad find, the divorce papers.
Wow Maureen, I never made that connection.
Jessica,
It is those moments imbued with emotion that seem to stick with us, aren’t they? You do a beautiful job of creating not only visuals but anticipation of what you’re looking for.
What a great prompt! For all the phototaking going on these days, there are so many uncapturable moments. When I comment on a notable scene, my husband will say, “Take a picture.” But I respond, “I just took one in my head.” What a lovely way to recapture those! Though this one came to me from an experience perhaps thirty years ago. Thank you for the opportunity!
hot August night
the midway’s flashing lights
blur behind us
we are walking fully clothed
into the bay
after a long day’s hard work
we are open mouthed
cold shock laughter
grabbing one another’s arm
you still hold a cigarette
in your other hand
your wrist unscarred
my heart still pliable
we’ll emerge soaked
but renewed
we never cared
what other people thought
how strong we once were
& we always laughed
you and me
in every memory
Denise, what a fun memory. Not only have you helped us be there with you as you walked into that water fully-clothed, but we get the privilege of experiencing the emotion, love and laughter.
I love the spontaneity and fun in this story. My mind keeps seeing the glowing ember of the cigarette before it is emerged as well.
I adore the image of “you still hold a cigarette” – such a fun, reckless, joyful moment together! Great snapshot!
Kim,
This is another amazing prompt. Your poem looks amazing on the page. It also speaks to grief on many levels. This morning I was thinking about how sophisticated our prompts have become over time. It’s the fruit of sustained writing. What a gift we have in this community. ❤️
On My First Television Memory
bare chested
five-year-old me
stands mesmerized,
eyes fixated to a
grainy black & white
television screen
topped with rabbit ears—
watching watchers watch
JFK’s funeral procession:
horse-drawn hearse
shades of gray stars & stripes
draped atop a curved casket,
commentators commenting,
in public & in private grieving
mourners mourn the
morning of
November 25, 1963.
—Glenda Funk
November 21, 2022
These words – watching watchers watch and mourners mourn the morning – just amazing use of words and the picture of you at 5 with the grainy tv captures the memory in one moment of time as our whole country stood in disbelief. ?
Glenda, whoa, your poem is mesmerizing. I love how you open this poem, depicting you during this time and how your words develop the black and white scene. Your use of alliteration adds a particular drumbeat that highlights the shared shock and grief of President Kennedy’s assassination. “mourners mourn the/mourning “. Kudos!
Glenda, wow. This is more powerful as I compare it to my own memories of this same moment. I was also five, watching the funeral on television in the library with my kindergarten class. Wow… “mourners mourn / the morning…”
What a powerful moment that certainly is etched in deeply in your memory–as it was in everyone who saw it. I have a pretty similar memory of the moon landing.
I love the sound of these lines . . .
The clarity of your memory at five years of age is amazing! Love the poetic play of “mourners mourn the morning of…”
“Mourners mourn the morning” is such powerful phrasing. Your words have created a picture, no need for film.
Image Burned
I start to walk down
the mile-long aisle
flanked by pews
adorned by tulle
and filled with
waiting faces atop
leaning bodies.
My senses shut down.
I can’t hear the trumpet
and organ
I can’t feel my arm
nestled in Dad’s.
I can barely breathe.
I see Father Bob
with the altar filling in
behind him.
A few more steps and I see
the bridal party peacocked
around him.
Finally.
There he is.
Jason.
Finally in view.
Sunbleached blond hair
Sunkissed skin
Black tuxedo
Standing taller than normal
Arms extended
Hands criss-crossed
left over right.
The moment I come into his view
he rises on the balls of his feet
and rocks back down
his eyes widen
the inhale loud enough
for the entire congregation
to hear.
His teeth land on his curled
bottom lid
His eyes widen more.
Eyes filled with love,
excitement.
I wish the photographer
had captured it
but I did.
That’s what matters.
Twenty-eight years later and
the image is burned in my memory.
~Susan Ahlbrand
21 November 2022
Susan, wow, what an amazing poem. I love how you capture this extraordinary moment, your husband’s delighted joy of seeing his beautiful bride. Loved also the words “bridal party peacocked”. Fantastic poem!
Susan, this wonderful! I love the detail of your (soon-to-be) husband “ris[ing] on the balls of his feet / and rock[ing] back down.” And the “inhale” at seeing you “come into his view”! “[L]oud enough / for the entire congregation / to hear.” I love that! This really is picture perfect!
Susan, the moment a groom sees his bride and she knows – you knew – that forever love could spill out of eyes! What a cherished moment to have etched in your memory! Gorgeous!
Jeesh, Kim . . . even your responses are poetic. I need to add “forever love spilling out of his eyes” to it! You are awesome!
Susan, I was there with you for every moment of this. What a testimony of this special moment that you remember so well. I can see him here as if I had been there 28 years ago…
Memento
Pictures never tell the whole story
The what happened before
and the what happens next
the details and complications
that live outside the borders
of four corners falsely framed…
Yet the picture that I conjure in my mind’s eye,
not of the white knuckle drive on icy roads to get to your door
or the sinking feeling when you told me that Italian food
wasn’t your favorite on the ride to the restaurant,
But that first moment,
as I pulled up to your door,
as the snow fell, illuminated by the light at your building’s entrance,
as you first walked towards my waiting car,
and you were framed by the four corners
of the passenger side window,
you waved and smiled
and I knew that my life was changed.
Ahhhhh, Dave! Your poem captures such a precise image and I love the message here about what photos do not reveal. So glad there is a happy and promising end to your poem. Gorgeous!
I got goosebumps as I finished your poem, Dave! I love the transitioning of actual framed picture to “mind’s eye” picture to the framing of the passenger side window at the end. So good!
This brought tears to my eyes. A beautiful memory and artfully rendered!
Dave,
“But that first moment” moves me to a new seeing into the “snow fell” and the “waved and smiled”. Such a moment of knowing.
Sarah
Unseen
Cars racing by as my body sprawled
on the sidewalk, scratched face looking
over the missed crack.
Cars racing by as my body sprawled
over the missed crack,
a bloody knee, blue jeans torn.
Cars racing by as my body sprawled
on the sidewalk, scratched face looking.
This prompt got me remembering an embarrassing moment when I was happy not to be photographed.
Oh, Susan, I can do relate to this kind of embarrassing moment. Loved how your repetition enhances the sensory appeal. Brilliant!
Susan,
Wow, “body sprawled” at the end of the line is just the right placement for that moment drawing my eye toward and over “missed crack.” And the cars…the witnesses. That is making me think about why having a witness to our hurt causes embarrassment for us — why tripping evokes this feeling. Lots here, Susan.
Hugs and healing,
Sarah
Oh, Susan, I’m glad look back and feel embarrassed, rather than traumatized! You’re poem’s repetition is very powerful in helping us feel with you, “Will this ever end?”
Definitely a moment unworthy of a Polaroid! I’ve had an embarrassing moment like this, but the emphasis on the repetition reminds me of a moment we try to forget but keep reliving!
Susan, I love your repetition. It makes me think that time stood still for you while cars raced by, while the rest of the world sped by. I know that feeling, as I recently fell in front of a cafeteria of kids. There were probably a couple of hundred phones at the ready, but as far as I know, no one caught me.
Kim, whew! You hit hard with your poem today. I felt as if I were sitting in that chair witnessing every moment. There’s something about this season that always brings me to longing for my mother. I feel your pain. I decided to bring her into my space today. I don’t have sadness this time, I just wish for experiences that never got to happen.
What’s Not in My Social Media Algorithm
No profile pics
No reels
No IG stories
in 1973
when I was 10
or in 1979
for my sweet 16
in 1981
when I graduated
or in 1988
when my baby was born
No profile pics
of great grandma
walking hand in hand
on Santa Monica’s sand
No reels
of us singing
happy 80th birthday
on June 21, 2014
No IG stories
when we watch
her take one last breath
on December 28, 2010
No profile pics
No reels
No IG stories
just wishes of what could have been
and memories of what was
©Stacey L. Joy, November 21, 2022
Stacey, I love how you connect these memories to what is now possible through social media and weave in the important moments not captured that you hold close to your heart. The line “when we watch/her take one last breath” is especially moving. Your poem is a photo of an indelible moment full of love and loss. Tears and hugs! Thank you for sharing your incredible poem today!
Stacey,
Holding space here not in “No” but in “memories of what was” and the timeline you offer here for us to witness and wish.
Sarah
Wow. The amazing presence of what is…not…how full this poem is. What a great capture of what’s not there but is so there for you.
Oh, Stacey, I love the take you took on this prompt. The many moments that aren’t permanently recorded.
Stacey Joy, thank you so much for sharing your mother with us today. Such great memories not captured with photos, but etched in stone with love.
Stacey, your poem hits home as I also turned 10 in 1973, and my mom passed away in 2016 at 82. Your words remind me of the power memory holds over social media.
Even
though
your
smile
(the crinkle
of your eyes,
the soft folds
in the corners,
and the
upturned
edges
of your lips)
would be
for a
Facial Action
Coding System*
devotee
a simple
reduction to
a 6 and a 12,
I have to be
honest,
these have
just become
my two
new
favorite
numbers.
_______________________
*”The Facial Action Coding System (FACS) is the most widely acknowledged, comprehensive, and credible system of measuring visually discernable [sic] facial movements….Each number is the code of an Action Unit (AU), these numbers represent muscle movements (individual muscles and muscle groups).” https://www.eiagroup.com/study/facial-expressions/facial-action-coding-system-facs/
Scott, your love poems are my favorites! This is so precious!
So, after following the link, I’m a 6 and a 12 too!
Lovely, sir. Just lovely. A way of seeing with FACS while resisting its way of measuring all that defies measurement from the most important perspective: love.
Kim,
I have dozens of unphotographed moments, especially from my years in Bahrain, where everything was so different. Here is one of those moments.
Your poem is stark and raw and heartbreaking. You took our hands and brought us to your moment. So beautiful.
Eyes
You were resting with four others
on the bench in the Souq at City Centre,
sitting at various levels,
one on the back of the bench
two on laps,
all looking in one direction
generations of faces,
or eyes, really–
black abayas
draped your bodies,
niqab veiled
your faces
My American face passed by you all.
In my curiosity about this unfamiliar scene
I wanted to remember your striking family,
so as I passed by I filled up my eyes,
and you smiled at me with yours
Beautiful, Denise. You have celebrated an interaction between lives and different cultures and reminded me that small pleasures are gained when we don’t have a blind eye.
Denise, wow, you completely pulled me into your memory. The shift between the two stanzas is striking. I love how you share the emotions shared as you pass the family. Powerful poem!
Denise, I’m with Barb here: this is very powerful! I love the phrases “generations of faces” and “so as I passed by I filled up my eyes, / and you smiled at me with yours.” I love the connection that passed between the two of you. Thank you for writing and sharing this unphotographed moment!
Denise,
Sometimes I think all we need to see are the eyes. They communicate so much. I attended a session w/ four palestinian women and noticed how beautiful they all are w/ their veils that gram their faces. Your poem is an echo of that image. Lovely.
No, Not Again!
Sitting on the porch, I am pouting, ‘cause you’d said,
“Do it over! You didn’t iron the shirt properly.”
Back then, dress shirts were made of cotton.
The collars had to be dipped in cooked starch,
Then ironed until those collars stood stiff.
The same with the front seam and the cuffs.
No creases were allowed.
But, I was pooped; I’d had enough.
I didn’t like ironing. I preferred to play.
But, back then, kids didn’t have a say
Unless it was, “Yes, Ma’am” or “Yes, Sir.”
When told to get our chores done.
Chores first, then outdoors to run and have fun.
But that bright sunny day was not fun for me.
I had to do the ironing over. You’d sprinkled the shirt
That really hurt. No voice and no choice.
I now had to start all over.
But years later, I now see the light.
What’s worth doing must be done right.
Back then, all I wanted to do was go out, play fight,
And jump rope while the sun shone bright.
Wow, Anna, you have told such a story. I remember some of that ironing, (though it wasn’t my chore, thank God). You were able to learn a valuable lesson–“What’s worth doing must be done right.”
This memory made me chuckle because I share it with you. Ironing I really, really disliked but it was so important to never have a wrinkle back when formality was most important. Yes, what is worth doing must be done right. Yet, was starched, crisp ironing worth it? I still have my doubts.
This is a great little parable–echoing Denise’s comment, “What’s worth doing must be done right” is a great lesson. Although I love the subversion of the “no ironing” icon.
Emily
Lips that purse like little “o”s
Comfy blankets covering toes
Blonde hair falling lightly over
Rippling o’er cozy cover
Eyes that seem at peace, at rest
She thinks bedtime is the best
I watched her like this when so small
Those years now so tough to recall
At sixteen she’s the length of bed
I stare and think – “What’s in her head?”
What’s she wishing? What’s she dreaming?
Fare for peace, or fare for screaming?
But
Her face does not a feel betray
A placid mask of overlay
In her arms, a baleful look
From cozy cat in cozy nook
Who wishes me to leave them be
And I retreat, soft, gingerly.
Wendy, what a sweet snapshot of Emily at 16. I see a series of poems, perhaps, in the same format about her at other ages…”I watched her like this when so small” Precious!
Wendy, mmmmmmm what a powerful scene sharing the angst of teen years and feelings parents can easily relate. Beautifully captured!
This is so wonderfully, wonderfully written…the essence of the moment. I don’t even need the photograph.
Kim, thanks for this prompt and for sharing such a vulnerable moment. I love how you played with form, line breaks, to set a tone of stair-stepping to the last breath. I recalled a similar moment watching my brother sing to my father in his last days.
Hallelujah
He knelt down next to the bed
held on to his father’s head
and sang to him in a tenor tone,
Now I’ve heard there was a secret chord
That David played, and it pleased the Lord.
On his knees, my brother sang
Hallelujah through his tears, praised
our shared father.
Adored him.
Raised him.
Let him go.
Margaret, what a snapshot in your memory of this precious moment of your brother and father. Wow. I can hear his tenor voice singing. You have brought us into this tender moment. Thank you for sharing it with us.
Margaret,
Gosh, this one really resonated with me. My son sang to my mom shortly before she passed away. Oh, how I wish we could all have a sweet song before our transition into glory. I love these joyous lines:
Margaret, whoa! That imagery of song in grief is soul shattering. KD Lang raises the hairs on my arms when she sings it – I can only imagine what this moment held for you. Raw emotion.
Margaret, my first thought was to write about the “going home” of my mother. Like you, we were at her bedside when she asked us to “Let her go!” In fact, when we called her brothers on the phone and one said he and his wife were praying for her, she said, “Please stop! I’m ready to go!”
Thank the Lord, I believe she is “healed” and “in a better place/”.
This verse is profoundly beautiful to me, Margaret – the scene, the rhymes, the praise-song in the face of death – stunning. Life is a gift. As is love. As is your poem.
Oh, oh, oh….how beautiful.
Kim, your poem is powerful and poignant. Your create the stark scene and follow it with the roiling emotions we all experience when losing a loved one. The outpouring of grief is riveting. Hugs, and thanks for sharing such a deeply moving poem.
Pierced
she
turned
took a breath
held it
held it
exhaled it
darkness; colors
blurred, wavered
breathed deeper
swallowed
her
heart
breathed
breathed
steeled; steadied
turned
smiled
Barb Edler
21 November 2022
Barb, precious. I can see my own daughters sitting “steeled; steadied” to get their ears pierced.
Denise, your comment is appreciated, but it helps me to reconsider my title. My poem is about the moment when you’re trying to deal with an overwhelming emotion. When you are with others and something happens that causes you pain. However, I can see how you could believe it’s about having your ears pierced.
Thank you for the clarification. There is definitely more emotion in your poem than my girls had at Claire’s all those years ago.
I do like your ending the overwhelming emotions of the poem with a smile.
Barb,
Both the tension and ambiguity are what I like most in your poem. The title encourages so many possible readings. It’s as though each line/word/breath pierces into an idea and a possibility. Love the way alliteration reinforces the ambiguity.
Ah, the courage in this poem! It is palpable. I am reminded that courage isn’t the absence of fear, but acting bravely in spite of it – crystal-clear here in that breathing, steadying, turning, with determined smile – well-done, Barb!
That’s it! Perfect picture. I agree that the word “steeled” is absolutely the right word.
Kim – Cool prompt! And your poem is just so darned heartbreaking and real. Just really an intense hit of grief in the image of the fingers on the chin and head bowed down … ooof. So poignant! Susie
Thank you, Susie! It’s great to have you here this morning. Mary Chapin Carpenter was here recently for a concert in Atlanta, and although I wasn’t able to go, I sure thought about you – and the love we have of her music.
ooooh! I love this prompt. This fall, I’ve been completely and utterly addicted to the triolet form (https://poets.org/glossary/triolet). It’s as satisfying as finishing a crossword to me. My free write was about a happy moment–my triolet ended up describing a scene of opposite emotion. Huh!
In a beige waiting room
full of empty chairs
TV flickers fighting gloom
In a beige waiting room
my child fights the tomb
I’m a wounded mama bear
in a beige waiting room
full of empty chairs
Linda, first: What gripping images – I am there, Mama Bear, hurting for my child in these awful, unbearable moments of waiting…then: oh, the form, the circular lines. It works beautifully. Writing does take on a life of its own…it extracts what the writer needs to say. Powerful, powerful poem.
Linda, this is a heart-wrenching poem. I hadn’t heard of the triolet form but the repetition and order reversal of those initial lines at the end are beautiful and devastating. “Full of empty chairs” is such a powerful image here.
Linda, I sense fear, loneliness, and hurt in your verse, but I know that a wounded mama bear is perhaps the strongest of all mamas anywhere. You draw us into the moment of muted color full of waiting and allow us to be with you in this photograph, where the TV flickers show us that life in these moments of waiting is anything but peaceful. You go back to a moment that is tough to relive and do it with courage and emotion. I love how the triolet form works here to bring us a circular ending with the repetition.
Linda, I looked at this poetry format recently and adore how you use it to create such a powerful moment. The color, movement, and the waiting is a tableau full of grief. “I’m a wounded mama bear!” is a perfect line to show the reader the situation and create the striking pain of waiting for a child to beat the odds, hoping they will survive. Your poem brought me to tears. Incredibly moving poem! Thank you!
Those empty chairs set the ominous tone for this poem. It does make me want to know more here. What happened? Did it come out all right?
Linda,
The imagery evoked here is riveting and gripping. I’m in love with “In a beige waiting room/full of empty chairs” but my heart aches for you through it all. The triolet is perfect for the story you tell. I need to practice this form.
Thank you, Linda. ?
Dear Kim…heart-rending. Every single line. The scene is vivid, the loss of your mother so fresh…eyes fixed on a shoe, on anything, on nothing, perfectly paints the picture of grief and the utter helplessness of it. Someday I might be able to write of my rage in the moment I learned my father died, unexpectedly…such snapshots of memory are hard to relive. There are no words – that in itself, so well-said. Great love, however, emanates from your verse; that singular thing tethers us, still, to the beloveds we have lost. Thank you for your courage, your open (ever-mending) heart, and this poetic invitation…I chose a different kind of life-changing moment <3
Audition
an open door
frames the scene:
a well-lit room
folding chairs
people milling
—most are
so young—
girls with big hair
big makeup
big laughter
guys with…
well, there’s only one
(in this snapshot
of memory):
seated dead center
script in hands
leaning in
black hair
dark eyes
the most beautiful
beautiful face
in this freeze-frame
of a breath
I stand
my hand on the doorknob
my foot on the threshold
of the beginning
of the rest
of my life
Oh, my goodness. This takes my breath away. Yes, that moment. “the most beautiful/beautiful face” steals the show in this poem…although it’s hard to beat the metaphor of “of the rest/of my life” as the true threshold. Wonderful writing.
Fran, I heard an audible click of the camera on this one. That cool sound like a DSLR freezing one fraction of a second in color, forever preserved. Your moment, your entry into a new once upon a time time through a portal of a defining moment. I love what you did with that last sentence – phrases that telescope us on the impact of this moment, yet don’t give us the outcome – – and I love that about the piece. You know, this is another great beginning here – – it’s NaNoWriMo, and what a great beginning of a young adult verse novel. BAM! Because I’d already be tearing through that book, eager for the next page and the next page and the next. A novel in unphotographed snapshots. This is compelling!
Oh, Fran, I love your poem and your ability to capture this moment so perfectly depicted. The stage, the lights, the beautiful face, and then your end! Powerful!
A still shot that I can totally imagine alongside your anxious feelings. Beautiful!
In another room,
I listened in –
your trumpet
bent slightly
out of tune
I hear
the whispered voice
of your music
teacher, and then
after silence,
the notes you finally
found
In another year,
on saxophone,
I, too, would become
a seeker of
a sound
Kevin, we learn so much by listening, a thing we all need to do more…it is the musician’s great gift to the world. I love this scene – I hear it – with the notes finally found, and becoming a seeker of sound (which also translates to poet).
Kevin – You’ve brought the sound to us through a word photograph… that’s cool right there. The whispers, the silence, and the tender image of you becoming the musician. A perfect prompt for you at that crossroads of love and a passion for becoming a musician… I Can feel it, see it, and hear it. Lovely poem. Susie
How lovely…such a moment. And, these milestone moments are rarely captured as images. I love the listening turning into becoming. Brilliant writing this morning.
This is a beautiful poem, Kevin. I love the way it moves from stanza to stanza, the rhythm of the poem is perfect. There’s a lot of music in my house and this reminds me of how the process of passing on the musical bug moves from sibling to sibling. “Seeker of sound” is a really apt descriptor!
Kevin, your poem resonates with me in a new way this year. All year, my One Little Word has been listen. I chose it to listen more carefully to others, to do more listening than talking, to stand back and observe. Here we are at the end of November, and you remind me to listen to the music, to seek its sound and capture its power. This is a beautiful photograph, a framed moment in time now.
Kevin,
I appreciate the power of listening and wish more people would try it. ?
Your poem moves me the way music moves me, from one idea to a beautiful revelation.
Love the sound of these final lines:
Kevin, your poem brought back memories of the years my three took music lessons: all piano, then individually viola, tuba, and violin. I became the “seeker of sound” trying to play their piano lessons when they were at school!
But, the tunes kept “hiding”! If nothing more, my inability to “play” well has given more respect for those who do!
Thanks for “reviving a memory” with the picture of your words.